Pivot
by BlightPurged
Summary: AU. When Gaara is admitted to a psychiatric ward, he just wants to be left alone. But others come, trying to "fix" him. Only one catches his immediate attention.
1. Chapter One

This is just a shot-gun story for a shot-gun idea I had poking around in my head. May just be a one-shot if it isn't well-received; may turn into a real series if it is. I'll wait and see.

* * *

You might have heard the expression, "You don't have to be crazy to work here; they'll train you" before. Well, when you have the job I do, that's just a big hypocrisy. You won't be hired after the first interview unless they see that you are a bit loopy, and they'll poke fun at you later for being, "a few sandwiches short of a picnic", "a few sodas short of a six pack", and lately, I've picked up that I'm also apparently "a few chickens short of a farm". Personally, I'd never heard that one before, but it sounds to me like a I just need a comfortable sheet or blanket and a park that isn't contaminated with litter and dog droppings and I could have myself a nice lunch. You see, I was just a little more loopy than most at my job.

These kinds of things happened all the time. I was referring to the ever-constant memos from the psychiatric ward downtown, but yeah, the whole name-calling, gossiping when they thought I wasn't around when I was really around the corner or ducking behind the water cooler happened pretty frequently, too. Sometimes, the ward gets a patient that is admitted, whether voluntarily or not, that they simply can't handle. Most of the time, the patients have dementia, but they just as often have sociological issues, which generally explains _why _the doctors there have problems. The first time a patient snaps and attacks a doctor, or _tries_to attack them, that's where people like me step in. We go in and try to pick apart said patient, slow enough as to not upset their already fractured minds, but quickly enough to help solve the problem. One young doctor, whom had recently flown in from America, had been assaulted by a woman in her room while trying to bring her out the the recreation area. She hadn't so much as made eye contact with anyone, including doctors and other patients, but the moment he tried to talk to her and bring her outside, he made the mistake of cupping her chin and making her look him in the eyes. It had been a harmless and intentionally friendly gesture, but in the woman's mind, it was like a switch had been flipped, and she mauled him. Their screams eventually caught the attention of the other doctors, and pulled her off of him. He was so flustered, his feathers were still ruffled by the incident when I arrived there two days later.

"Hurry up and fix that broad," He had pleaded, his voice shaking, his bright hazel eyes studying me warily as if judging whether or not I could finish the job he had started.

I didn't bother to mask the frown that etched onto my cracked lips, because I really didn't like his tone. "Fix" her? What was she, a common household appliance? It was as if he had expected me to go into her room, wrench in hand, and whack her into sense. His next words, however, turned my frown upside down, to say the least, simply out of the ignorance of the statement.

"I'm already tired of this job... I wish not everyone around here were psychos."

He had shaken his head and walked away, apparently not realizing that he had just contradicted his entire line of work. I would have pointed that fact out, and reminded him he was in a psychiatric hospital, had he not made such a hasty escape.

I had read the file sent on the patient he had failed to doctor, an Ino Yamanaka. According to the young doctor, Richard Finnigan, all that had transpired during his short time in her room was that he had called out to her from the doorway. When she was unresponsive, he approached her, and she had whimpered in protest to his advances, bolting into the corner of the room farthest from him. Even if you don't know _what _you would do, if you were to think about it for just a moment, you'd at least know what _not _to do in this situation. Crude as it may be, think of the patients as animals. I know, it sounded inhumane when my professor first suggested it, but there is truth to those words. All humans were at one point in time animals anyway, at least according to Darwin. Anyways, if you came across a dog you knew nothing about, you weren't sure if it had rabies of some other disease, and when you tried to pet it and it ran into an alley, what would you do there? Most would say "Leave it the hell alone", and that's actually the smart thing to do. But say it's a neighbor's dog. It's run away and now you're trying to recapture it. Let's say you're a good person trying to do the right thing, or at the very least a not-so good person, but just trying to get on the good side of the dog's attractive owner so maybe you can chase more than just pets further down the road. So, leaving the dog alone isn't an option. You can either calmly coax it to you from a safe distance enticing it with bait, coax it out while slowly inching towards it with said bait, or you can simply walk right up to it and grab the mutt. If you have half a brain at all, you'll know that one of those options just doesn't belong. Unfortunately, not everyone has as much sense as you and I, and just let their eight-year education go to waste, which is a _real _shame.

Naturally, the doctor lacking sense was my good friend Richie. He not only made the big _no-no _of striding towards Ino and grabbing her, but he also looked into her eyes. Which brings me back to the dog. The chaser grabs the dog by its scruff, risking the dog biting his arm off and having a quick and easy lunch, and pulls its head up. The dog is already scared and intimidated; that's why it ran in the first place. When someone does that to a dog, it conveys to the dog, "I am better than you; I am your master." Most dogs don't like that, and humans like it even less. Humans, by nature, have a superiority complex exceeding any other mammal, reptile or otherwise. This is when you get mauled by the dog, and it's the end of the line; you're not catching the dog, you're not the good guy, and you're certainly not getting any dates anytime soon. In Richie's case, he was mauled by the woman, and lost his credibility.

I had tied my unmanageable brown hair into a tight bun for the occasion, and, standing outside of Ino's room, I went through a mental checklist that I always accounted to before I approached any patients.

_Hair, check._

I had had my fair share of patients spazing on me over a conversation gone awry, grasping ahold of my scalp and yanking on it. It was the most common form of aggression that most patients went for; that and clawing out the eyes, but luckily, my doctor gave me some ointment for that and said it would heal on its own. Through experience and trial-and-error, I have found that if I tie my hair back and give them a handle to jerk on, it makes it not only more convenient for them (not saying I _want_ them to yank on my hair, but really, it can happen), but also for me, seeing how I won't _still _be brushing out the knots and tangles a week later.

_Checklist... check._

This one is self-explanatory. On each and every visit to the ward, I carried with me a blank checklist of symptoms so I could jot them down as I observed them.

_White clothing, check._

Just like the hair, patients had also torn at my clothes, if they were too colorful, or if I was wearing too much black. Apparently, wearing too much black signified the Angel of Death to those who had lost a few loved ones as well as a few screws along the line, which didn't sit too well with many. Wearing white was the neutral "color", and some that had attacked others because they didn't like the colors red, blue, yellow or any of the other colors in between, smiled at me before I'd even opened my mouth. White was the color of angels, not the ones seen in Death, but the ones seen in Life. I had come to the conclusion that patients liked that, and used it to my advantage. Even particularly _shiny _objects caused some patients to stir uneasily, so I had gotten into the habit of removing all jewelry as well. I rarely wore make-up to begin with, so the aspect of upsetting one of them with a glossy sheen over my pouty lips didn't pose an issue with me.

Having checked and double-checked everything on my list, I inhaled, and braced myself for impact as I entered Ino's door.

It was so perfectly as I'd pictured in my mind, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming the scenario before me. Having felt the twinge of pain, I smiled to myself, and dropped to my knees.

"Hello there, Ino."

Her stringy, ice blond hair hung over her body like drapery as she sat on the floor against the wall, her arms wrapped around the legs so tightly pressed to her chest. She remained unresponsive, as I figured she would. Like most "cells", as I preferred to distastefully call them, there were two small _barred _rectangular windows, each above the two beds in the room. Whomever Ino's roommate was had been taken from the room for my arrival.

I pulled my legs under myself, sitting indian style as I laid the clipboard behind me and out of view.

"My name is Miyune. Nice weather we're having, huh?"

Ino slowly lifted her head, craning her neck to gaze out the window as if it was a task she had meant to bear witness to earlier, and had just forgotten. It had been cloudy that day, dreary, and I'm sure I still smelled of the musty outdoors that I had brought inside with me. The patient turned to me, eyeing me as if I was the one with greater mental issues between the two of us.

"It's been raining," She accentuated slowly, softly, in a crisp, clear voice.

"It's never pretty after the rain."

Smiling at her response, I silently checked off dementia in my mind. No dementia sufferer could have come to that conclusion on their own.

"What about rainbows?"

She seemed to consider my point for a moment, before shrugging her shoulder nonchalantly. She wasn't a talker. That was okay with me. Not many were, at first.

"I like chocolate. How about you?"

Ino seemed to do a double-take at my pockets, as if mentally checking to see if I had the mythical substance on me. The dietary staff around here frowned on giving their patients chocolate, placing the very word in the same bracket as "cocaine" and "methamphetamines". But I had done my homework, and one fun-size Snicker's bar didn't affect any patient in any way; it wasn't even enough to give them a modest sugar buzz. My boss left me to make the decsion, and I decided to cut them a break now and again. I fished into my pockets, retrieving two small candy bars.

"Do you like Reese's or Milky Way?"

Ino's eyes seemed to grow alight at the Milky Way, but hesitance still lingered in her light blue gaze. I peeled the wrapper off of the Reese's, crumbling the paper in my free hand as I bit into the circular chocolate-slathered peanut butter delicacy to show her I hadn't poisoned or otherwise altered the candy. Her skepticism vanished as she caught the candy bar with ease, mauling it as if I'd thrown raw meat to a starving lion. Pleased, she munched, sharing my company much more lightly now.

In a ten minute session, I learned that not only did Ino Yamanaka lack dementia, she also lacked any signs of aggression. She suffered from primarily post-traumatic stress. Nothing serious, but, as her file had claimed, she was self-admitted after the sudden deaths of her husband, three children and mother in a car accident. Most likely, she was afraid she might try and commit some self-harm after she sank into a severe depression in response to the unexpected deaths she'd been unfortunately dealt.

That was a month ago.

Today, I was on my way back to that same hospital to try and treat a patient there who, according to my co-worker Sakura Haruno, was from hell. You heard that from time to time, when a psychiatrist tried to talk to a patient, only to receive what those in my line of work had dubbed "getting the cold shoulder". In short, that line meant that a doctor had tried to speak to the patient, and said doctor had either been ignored completely and refused to talk at all, or had been attacked. Judging from Sakura's disheveled pink hair and curt, crude tongue, I assumed it had to have been the latter. After making a scene, she vowed never to see another patient without seeing a criminal history report on them first. Anger flashing in her pale green eyes, she had then proceeded to take the rest of the day off, and low and behold, the superintendent dropped Sakura's burden onto my all-too willing shoulders. Call it twisted, but I absolutely _loved _getting the patients that my co-workers had failed to rectify. It posed a challenge to me, and I welcomed a challenge like one would welcome their significant other into their home, as it gave me a greater sense of accomplishment when I succeeded where others had fallen. I would give the patient a day to settle down from their encounter with Sakura. When I came into work the following day, my superiors had advised against my acting so soon, as I was the eighth doctor that would approach this particular patient.

_"Eighth!"_

I remember reciting the word to myself in awe as if it had been foreign to me, excitement fluttering through my body like electricity. Seven before me had tried. Seven had failed. Seven was the number of wholeness; completeness. At least, that's the the Good Book told me. That should mean that seven was the number this patient would stop at, and the eighth would finally breech them, shedding light anew.

At least, that's what I had convinced myself.

Not wanting to rush things, I waited an entire week before I jumped into my 2008 Ford Fusion and put the key into the ignition. All the hastiness I had spent the past week restraining was emanating from me in waves now, and I think I might have breached the legal speed limit.

I'm not being arrogant to say that I'm the best those in my line of work have to offer. My co-workers and superintendent would all readily agree to this, although my gift comes with a "hefty price", as many would insist. I can attribute my knack for grounding myself to my patients' levels to my own insanity, and my unwillingness overall to socialize with anyone. My voice just didn't sound the same when I talked to those outside a protected, sanitized, sane-free environment. The voice wasn't even mine. I found myself at peace most often when speaking to a patient. That's what made me so good at what I do; I belonged in a psychiatric ward myself, therefore, I knew how most patients felt. Misunderstanding. Anger for said misunderstanding. Forcing oneself into isolation. Loneliness that you knew no one ever had a snowball's chance in hell in quenching because everyone around you misunderstood you, so you never made an attempt to ask anyone to talk to you, and simply accepted the fact that you were different. The loneliness proved not be an acquired taste, but a preferred one; or so, that's what I've been telling myself since high school.

Speaking of psychiatric hospitals, that's exactly where I would have landed had I had my own way back then, but my father had never been able to accept the fact that perhaps his only child was slowly slipping off her rocker. He was a plastic surgeon, therefore, as you might be able to put two and two together, obsessed with perfection. No daughter of his was going to be anything shy of perfection, anything shy of following in his perfect, medical footsteps. There were people who disliked me for my social inept attitude, and then there were those who simply _tolerated _me. I had no friends. Sometimes, when my father had started to grow suspicious about my lack of bringing friends home, going to friends' houses, slumber parties, shopping mall trips, violation of curfew and everything else females my age were apparently supposed to do, I grew smart enough to head out after school and stay for hours on end somewhere _other _than home. Sometimes I took a jog around town, listening to my walk-man. At other times, I climbed trees simply to see how high I could get before the branches started to give way under my weight. It kept him happy when I came in after curfew, thinking I had been out and about with "friends", and I endured the scolding that he had to give me by default since he was, after all, a parent.

Despite my anti-social tendencies, I was a very active child. I still am. I decided one day during my junior year of high school that I wanted to take martial arts classes. Though I was administered the lessons in a class full of other aspiring martial artists, I figured most of them would be there for the fighting aspect, and not to check out the local eye candy. Not that I considered myself much to look at, anyways. I had a straight yet unruly mop of brown hair possessing much of my scalp. My skin was definitely _not _what models were made of; a sickly, pasty white complexion contrasted by both my dark hair and dark, fern green eyes. Only my eyes were the slightest give-away that my father and I were even related. His skin was a beautiful, healthy olive shade, his wispy blond hair always seeming to be windswept, regardless if there was even a wind. Even as he aged, his flawless beauty that would never require anything like the art he himself crafted never faltered.

After he had made it perfectly clear in my junior high years that pursuing a career in any other field besides that of medicine was unacceptable, I had no trouble making my long-term goal to be a psychiatrist, specializing in social psychiatry. I figured that even if my options had been a little bit more open, I would have settled where I had anyways. Ever since my pre-teen years, I knew that something had always been wrong with me upstairs. I wanted to figure out what was wrong with me first and foremost; helping other people could wait until after I was "fixed". They say that acknowledging that you have a problem is the first step to solving your problem. That, my friends, is the biggest lie I've ever heard. Here I was, going on fifteen or so years of admitting that I was loony, and yet I was no closer to "fixing" myself than the day I started.

It was a clear, beautiful day today; the sun was shining, the wind was all but caressing my already flyaway hair, and the chocolate was already starting to melt in my pocket. I hoped that my new friend-to-be liked Kit-Kats and Almond Joys.

I was more than a little miffed that this particular patient was accompanied to-and-fro to their destinations by not one, but two "guards", and in shackles. It was enough to make me lose my lunch, and I hadn't even eaten lunch yet. I feared how that would work; losing one's lunch before one ate it.

One of the doctors had escorted me to the recreation room, though I hardly could see why. By now, I knew the entire layout of the place almost as well as I knew my own house.

The doctor instructed me to wait where I sat, pulling up a chair across from me and the table in which I was seated. Someone fidgeted next to me, and I gazed around the room, watching as the hired hands and doctors ushered the remaining patients out of the room. My skin began to crawl as I envisioned this ill-portrayed man, to have everyone else but me cleared from the room. The reason they hadn't allowed me to go to his room, I knew, was because his file had clearly depicted his aggression. The staff didn't want me cornered in a small room with him, alone, where he'd have time to do with me as he pleased before my muffled screams got loud enough to reach anyone who could help me.

While I waited, I pulled the patient's file out of my messenger bag to give it a last minute once-over.

"Gaara," I murmured, even the strange name falling awkwardly from my lips.

He had not been self-admitted. His doctors had insisted that he stay at the psychiatric ward after numerous "blackouts" which all resulted in a murder or _cheery _visit the victim would pay to the ICU. The dates of the victims' deaths and hospitalizations were listed. Several slips of paper clipped to the manila folder, all bearing the chicken-scratch signatures of variously listed doctors condoning his rehabilitation, all claimed that this Gaara character's "episodes" were linked to his anger, which was already on a short fuse anyway. Only his siblings' pleas of "insanity" had held this man from going straight to jail for murder.

The heavy creak of a none-too-well-oiled door echoed, piercing the silence. I shuffled the papers back into my bag, and swallowed back at the nervous lump in my throat, bracing myself for the man about to enter my line of sight. I envisioned a tall, hulking man, with holes from the piercings he'd had and had been forced to remove and tattoos covering every inch of visible skin; kinda like the raven haired "guards". Instead, I could feel my jaw slacken at the scrawny, pasty skinned male that ambled into my view. He only possessed one tattoo, and that was etched onto his forehead, the red-inked kanji for 'love'. It was sloppily done, which instantly led me to believe that the work was his own. His vibrant red hair was the reddest red I had ever seen in my life. Soft, teal eyes rimmed with black indicated at insomnia. He glared icily at me as the two guards pushed him down into the seat across from the table when he refused to sit on his own. A single, long shackle bound his wrists and ankles together, restraining his movement. I didn't plan on bothering to shake his hand in any case. By now, I'd learned that most patients wouldn't have accepted the gesture that any other person would consider one of "good faith" anyway.

"Hello, Gaara."

His cold stare remained trained on me, and I could tell that he was silently wishing me to fall over in my chair and croak. He had no idea how mutual the feeling was for me, too, at times.

"My name is Miyune."

I contemplated skipping the weather question, since it was obvious this man didn't have dementia; if he did, he wouldn't have so skillfully attacked every doctor that approached him. I knew how Sakura worked. She had a bad temper, but never, _ever_ showed that side of herself with her patients. Since her forte was dementia patients, and seeing how she had crashed and burned with him, I doubted that this man had it. However, I asked in any case, for "development's" sake.

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think?"

I felt my palms begin to sweat as his eyes narrowed dangerously. I had infuriated him with my simple question. Those doctors weren't kidding when they said he had a short fuse. On second thought, did he even _have_ a fuse at all?

"I know you didn't come here to talk about the weather," He growled angrily.

His voice was low and raspy; haunting, I'd even go as far to say.

"No," I admitted,

"But it was just a question."

"I don't like stupid questions," He seethed, baring his teeth at me menacingly.

I think I was already starting to get the hang of how he worked. There were those patients ruled mainly by sadness and depression. Patients like Ino Yamanaka. And then, there were those who lived their lives consumed in a blinding rage, a fire that simply could not be doused.

"You don't seem to like a lot of things."

His glare wavered, and I caught a glimpse of amusement from those stone-carved eyes. Seeing as how he didn't answer, it seemed the ball was back in my court again. I reached into my pocket, lying the two candy bars on the table.

"Which do you prefer?" I offered.

Gaara's jaw slackened, staring at the chocolate, his face still the same blank mask it had been, but his eyes were slowly taking turns unwrapping both treats simultaneously. I slid both across the table towards him, in range of what little his chained arms could reach. The guards looked as if they might argue, but I waved them off.

"They won't spike his heart rate, or send him into cardiac arrest," I assured them dully.

He attacked the Kit-Kat first, devouring it in three quick bites, barely salvaging the wrapper. I decided to voice my honest surprise to him.

"You know, most tend to think I poison the candy. I'm astounded you took it so easily."

"Death would be preferable," He confided morbidly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Why are you so troubled?"

The harsh glare returned to his eyes, directed once again at me. I rose my hands in my defense, waving them lightly in surrender.

"Hey, that wasn't a stupid question. Don't give me that look, I just fed you the food of the Gods."

Gaara's gaze dropped, and his tongue flicked across his paper-thin lips.

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah," I replied, leaning forward.

"I want to help you. There are other ways for you to live. Other ways to influence how others live, without taking their lives."

Gaara seemed to resign himself silently to my request. He jerked his head slightly, signaling for me to come closer. I obeyed, though still out of his reach. His evil-eye turned to the guards on either side of him that inched closer to him to mirror me. I caught his drift, and waved them to step back. Their mouths opened and closed like fish out of water, casting one another skeptical glances.

"Go on," I instructed, waving them off again.

They took a good four steps back, but remained poised to pounce Gaara if he made any sudden movements.

"That better?"

He glanced over his shoulder at them, offering them a smug grin. It was a twisted look, a sinister contrast to his otherwise porcelain face.

"Gaara... Tell me what causes you pain. I promise I can help. There's a reason I'm the best there is."

I didn't feel comfortable voicing my superiority, but I wanted to sway him into talking to me. If informing him that I was good at what I did pushed him closer to speaking to me, then I was all for it.

He slowly peeled the wrapper from the Almond Joy. I watched him analyze me, analyze him. Usually, patients of the ward eyed me with suspicion, fear, skepticism, but never the rebellious intelligence reflected in Gaara's eyes. I was beginning to wonder who was keener mind here. I leaned further forward, on the edge of my seat now.

It was the most _noobish _mistake I'd made in at least two years, perhaps in my entire career.

In the blink of an eye, he had the top of my scalp in his grasp, yanking me even closer to him. I heard myself cry aloud as he pulled me across the surface of the table, watching in horror as a satisfied smirk crossed his lips at my pained voice. I hadn't realized how close I'd been to him until it was too late. He pulled me to him, and I was able to catch his scent with ease, and it sure as hell wasn't sugar, spice or anything nice. His strength was also far from being powderpuff, having hauled my ass across the table and nearly onto his lap before the two guards behind him had a chance of moving in to save the day.

"My problem... are self-righteous bastards like _you_!!"

Suddenly, I heard his taunting laughter in my left ear, followed by something wet tickling at my jawline. His tongue trailed to my cheekbone before the two men pried him from me with little difficulty. He had resigned himself before they'd even reached us, having already made his point. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching the raven haired men haul off my patient back to his forsaken "cell". The last glimpse I caught of Gaara was him shoveling what remained of the Almond Joy into his mouth before anyone else thought of taking it from him. His sadistic grin remained plastered on his lips, but his cold eyes sent the message clearly.

_Don't come back._

Unfortunately for him, it had always took me a long time to fully learn any lesson I'd tried to benefit from, and this would be no exception. I smiled to myself as I slid off of the table, re-doing my casual bun, already wondering if his expression when he saw me tomorrow would be one of mortified shock, or constrained anger.

I let the tangled mop atop my head hang awkwardly askew, and turned the the bug-eyed, flustered doctor behind me as I slid off of the table.

"Mark me down for two p.m. tomorrow afternoon," I told him breathlessly.

My heart was thundering in my chest, but the slack jawed doctor was still staring at the seat where Gaara had been sitting in mortified wonder, and I even doubted he'd heard me. So I rescheduled with the receptionist by the exit. She stared at me like I'd grown another head, but it was probably because of my whack-job hair. Just for effect, I moved to bounce the bun on the back of my head, laughing inwardly when it wasn't there. It was sagging off the left side of my head, and it wasn't a bun anymore. It was just a mess that would take a week to brush out. So much for the Number One precaution on my mental checklist. I may have to re-write a new list, just for my new patient, Gaara. What a fun name to say...


	2. Chapter Two

Obviously, after a little over a month of inactivity in this story, I've decided that I'm going to make a series out of it. I've got a good idea now what I want to do with it, but since I'm now juggling two stories, please bear with me.

Also, since the anime never reveals a last name for the Sand Siblings (no, it is not "Sabaku", or "Sabaku No". "Sabaku" translates to _Sand Waterfall_, and "Sabaku No" means _Of the Sand Waterfall_...), I had to take the liberty of making one up myself. Because of its appropriateness, I settled on Hisuna. Why? Well, if you break the two down... The first word you might be able to make out of that mess would probably be "Suna", which means "Sand", for those of you familiar with the Japanese terminology. The prefix Hi means "Scarlet". So, Hisuna essentially translates to "Scarlet sand", which is more than I could ask for in a potential last name for Gaara.

And now, time for some background on my own original characters.

Miyune, the main OC and narrator of the story, is of both French and Irish descent-- Her mother being French, and her father being Italian. I imagine that they moved to Japan after thier marriage, and before Miyune's birth, but... Well, you'll just have to pay attention to what you're reading to figure out any more than that.

* * *

As any good Spartan knew, you never, _ever_, went into battle unprepared.

I strapped my signature messenger bag against my chest, running my thumb along the black cloth of the strap, before pumping the air breathless with my free hand.

"Tonight... I dine in Hell!!"

Sakura rose a perfectly pink eyebrow at me, a stark contrast against her rosily pale cheeks. Her grasp on the manila folders she hugged to her chest faltered, and she lowered her arms ever so slightly as her manicured brows quivered in confusion, her eyes watching me warily with the familiar gleam I knew all too well by now. Blood rushed to my face instantly, and I silently cursed myself for last night's obsessive watching of that stupid _300 _film. When it had come out a few years ago, I hadn't thought much of it, but suddenly, warfare seemed to be all that I thought about. Perhaps because it was the Devil himself that was my opponent. Yes... That fiery, red-headed, _possessed _clinical mess of a charge of mine was Satan _incarnate_. Freaking _incarnate_, I say, I kid you not. No number of chocolaty goodness would win him over, it seemed; four unsuccessful sessions of abuse, mental, emotional and physical, had proven that. So I had decided to go straight the source.

Or, more precisely, the source had decided to come to me.

... Unfortunately.

It hadn't been my idea, really. The perfect siblings of Satan had contacted me.

It was ritualistic for me by now that on a Friday night, I always blared my stereo as I practiced martial arts. I leaned forward, suddenly and very spontaneously inspired by the slowly melting ice as I filled my water bottle. My nose edged closer to the faucet, and I grinned stupidly down at the shards of frozen water, when a squalling guitar, throbbing percussion and heavy bass riff shattered every figment of serenity I'd previously possessed. I jumped at the sudden unexpected noise, my nose taking a casual dip into the running water. Gasping, I stumbled back away from the sink, flailing my now half-empty bottle of watered-down ice maniacally above my head. A male's screeching voice resounded following the pounding beat, and I blinked rapidly, clearing the sudden hail of precipitation from my eyelashes.

I inclined my head hesitantly in the direction of the sound, shocked.

No one _ever _called my cell phone.

I had a very different reaction than I think most would have had upon hearing the otherwise familiar chime.

In one fluid movement, I remember slamming the bottle on the counter and darting from the kitchen. In a maddening flurry to follow the sound I hadn't heard in... in _years_, I daresay, I lunged headfirst over my sofa. Upon impact with the carpet, I did a quick somersault, coming to a clean halt on my knees in front of the coffee table and snatched up the cell phone.

Pressing my mouth to the reciever, I took a quick second to catch my breath, that single puff of air singing like static.

"Huh?" I asked stupidly.

I hung my head shamefully, feeling the blush creep onto my already flushed cheeks, and slammed the palm of my free hand into my forehead dramatically.

"Uhmm..."

A distinctly female voice skeptically murmured hesitantly, unsure. She inhaled curtly, recovering from the awkwardness much more quickly than I.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Hello?" Was the genius line I managed to stammer out.

The blush on my face darkened as a male's deep tone chuckled softly in the background of my caller.

So they had me on speaker.

_Fantastic_.

My first impulse was to regain my senses and stop being a retard, and demand to know if this was a prank call, when the woman's voice said a name that made the floor fall out from beneath me, as if a trap door had been triggered.

"...Gaara. You're his therapist, right?"

I shook my head as I answered her, willing the muscles in my tongue to work correctly.

"No, I'm no therapist. I'm a psychiatrist."

"There's a difference?" The male scoffed in the background.

I heard the female irritably shush him.

"Sorry," She mumbled, and I could practically see a woman huddled against the reciever, her hand cupped around her mouth.

I couldn't help but smile at the mental image.

"How did you get this number?" I decided to press.

I rose to my feet and crawled into what resembled the fetal position on the couch.

"Oh, we contacted your supervisor and he redirected us to a... Miyune?"

"Uh-huh. This is she," I replied listlessly, tilting my head to stare at my stereo.

I silently willed it to turn on, no more than a light buzz in the background as not to disturb my conversation, and was genuinely heartbroken when the dead clock bleeped back at me in response.

"Okay, then. I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Why do you care about Gaara?"

I laughed aloud, vaguely aware of the degree of rudeness it portrayed, but also only vaguely caring. I was answered with dead silence on the other side of the line. However, I could hardly help myself. Asking why I cared for that _demon _was like questioning why I did my job the way I did, which was much like asking a true musician why he wrote his own songs.

"I care for all my patients."

"Your superintendent claims you've seen Gaara four times. He even attacked you once."

Well well, I was modestly impressed. She'd done her homework.

"This is true."

"Gaara hates you. He's told us that, you know."

Another smile spread across my face, this time, filled with triumph. Any doubt that I'd had about not making any impact on Gaara whatsoever was gone with those two simple sentences. He'd spoken to his siblings about me. Which meant he thought about me. And in his dark, evil, sadistic mind, even if he daydreamed about skinning me alive, he still thought of me. A battle victory, any way you slice it.

"Good, that's good. Means I'm making progress."

The woman on the other end inhaled sharply. Her intake of breath was followed closely by hushed murmurs on the male's part.

"We'd like to meet you in person, Miss Miyune."

"Miyune," I quickly corrected out of impulse. "It's just... Miyune. And, who might "we" be?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," The woman mumbled almost incoherently.

In a stronger, clearer voice, she clarified,

"My name is Temari, and I have another brother, Kankuro."

"Another?" I questioned, although I felt I already knew the answer, as Gaara's folder of "dark-and-dirty-and-not-so-secretive-secrets" was already imprinted on my mind.

_"Gaara was admitted by his two older siblings under the advice of a multitude of doctors."_

"Gaara is our younger brother."

_"Called it,"_ I declared mentally, smug.

However, my mental party was crashed fairly quickly.

"Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"

I cringed at the suggestion. Few had ever dared to ask me out to a social lunch, date or otherwise.

No one had ever asked a second time.

Let's just say that my social graces never have been, and never will be, at the peak of society's expectations of me, and just leave it at that.

My palms were already slick with sweat, and I resisted the urge to tighten my grasp on the cell phone, lest it slip like soap from my clumsy grasp and fly like a bird. I'd already broken that same freakin' chandelier bulb twice now.

Despite my paranoia, I knew I couldn't refuse them. Doing so would just be bad for no one but myself, and I really didn't want to deal with an irate Kakashi. He could be quite the demon himself when he was angry.

"Hello?" Temari's voice rang out once again, shattering the glass barrier enveloping me in my thoughts.

"Yeah, free, free."

"Excuse... me?" She mumbled hesitantly.

"I'm free tomorrow."

"Great..." She replied, obviously trying to sound chipper, but failing miserably.

Awesome. That was the perfect word for this little scenario of mine. We'd only just met via a voice extension, and she already knew I was a whack-job.

"Can we meet at the Olive Garden on Third Street?"

Olive Garden... That was some Italian restaurant with the slogan, "When you're here, you're family", right?

I beg to differ.

I'd gone there-- _once_-- with my father shortly after I graduated college. It was supposed to have been his treat, and an "enlightening" crash-course on his family's side of "Italiano" cuisine, but it was more like a torture session.

We argued the entire time on the way to the place over whether or not I needed a tan (his arguement being that I did, mine being an obnoxious "Bitch, _please_"). What had started as an innocent enough remark in which I couldn't handle escalated into a full-blown verbal smack-down, and we never even made it to the entrance before I insisted that Ronald McDonald was better company than him. I doubted that the moment we stepped through the door, the restaurant's slogan would kick in, and we'd turn and hug one another and joke about old times, anyway.

So, in all honestly... No, I'd never been to the Olive Garden. Tried to go, but didn't.

I guess I was silent a tad too long for Temari's liking, because her next hello that brought me from my reminiscent state was a bit snippy. Oops.

"Sorry," I mumbled into the speaker.

Rising to my feet, I went to check the state of my water bottle, suddenly wondering if it was still on the counter, or floating along my new replica of Lake Erie on my kitchen floor.

"Olive Garden is fine."

"How is noon for you?"

"Fine."

"Great!" She replied, her enthusiasm a little more convincing this time. "We'll see you then!"

I nodded into the receiver, before pulling it away from my head and pressing my thumb to the little green "Talk" button. Grinning like a fool at the technology in my hand, I gazed up at the kitchen before me and was pleased to see my water bottle teetering on the edge of the counter, but otherwise perfectly un-toppled. Snatching it up, I turned to crank up my "jams", as Sakura often put it, and resumed my Friday-night-ritual where I had left off.

* * *

Like I mentioned, I'd never been to any Garden of Olives before, so I had no idea what kind of restuarant it was. To dress casual, or to dress formal? _That _was the question. Sorry, Shakespeare, I had siblings to meet, and who knew what they were like? Where they some po-dunk trailer-trash variety? No... Gaara's voice was indeed strange, but none of the three siblings carried anything remotely close to what would be considered a "Hillbilly" accent. Well... they could be "wiggers".

I shuddered at the thought, but thankfully crossed it off just as quickly. Temari's voice, the dialect in which she spoke, was far too proper for that.

_"Proper..."_

The ideas in my head drifted together, falling carefully into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Temari's dialect. Gaara's habit of greedily taking everything from everyone, including my candy bars, and still acting as if the generosity of others weren't good enough. Probably because he was used to the world outside of containment, and in that world, it _wasn't _enough for him.

He was spoiled.

The Hisabaku's were upper class.

My co-worker and acquaintance Kiba Inuzuka's voice floated into my head, unwelcome and screaming aloud his favorite phrase...

_"Holy shit the bed!"_

I did a flying jump from my perch on my mattress, and lunged for my closet, only to be thoroughly disappointed.

I had shopping to do.

It was by no means my favorite past time, but if they wanted to, they could easily take Gaara from me, and hand him off to someone they considered more "capable".

And there was no _way_ I would have that happening.

So, swallowing my pride, I sulked into the living and to the coffee table, where I'd left my cell phone lying, and selected the first of only three numbers on my contact list.

I waited for a mere two and a half rings before his receptionist answered.

"Thank you for calling, good morning. How may I help you?"

I recognized the woman's voice immediately. It was Kaori Hurik... Harat... Juris... something-or-other. She was the same exact receptionist the hospital had kept around for a few years now, and she knew my voice just as well as I knew hers.

"Lemme talk to my father."

The woman paused as the distinct sound of shuffling papers met my eardrum. There was a click, a brief silence, and then I was patched through.

"Doctor Agnusdei speaking?"

He had a way of dropping and picking accents back up at the drop of a hat, and it confused the hell out of me. It really did.

Right now, he was using his "charming" British accent, which meant he was currently seeing an attractive young female patient, probably in her twenties or thirties, but no older than mid-fourties. He insisted that it was in fact charming, and that over the years he had learned that it helped to relax young, attractive, nervous female patients. To me, that was a pretty specific category, which added up to more nationalities than I knew even existed. Personally, if my doctor had a British accent, I would have automatically thought of the American's Colonial War, and probably would have slipped up and asked something very strange and even more insulting. But, I think we've already established that my brain isn't necessarily wired the same way that everyone else's is.

"I'm not your patient."

Just as I had predicted, his British tone dropped immediately, giving way to his natural Italian dialect, with a slight Japanese twang to it. Which was still very strange, even to me, who had heard it all my life.

"Miyune... What do you need?"

"To know how to impress rich people."

My father laughed, and I couldn't help but grin, either.

"I have to meet the siblings of a charge of mine, and they're upper class."

"Today?"

"Yeah?"

His laughter filled my brain again, and though I probably should've been insulted, I wasn't. We both knew how this worked by now. I wandered to the kitchen and began to rummage through the cabinets for breakfast.

"You'll need more than a few hours to get _that _straight."

"Thanks. But let's just start with what to wear."

"Carmen Marc Valvo."

"Carmel what?" I questioned, and I could feel my eyebrows knitting themselves together as I pushed the bag of miniature marshmallows aside.

"_Carmen_," He repeated firmly.

"It's _Carmen _Marc Valvo."

I could easily hear the irritation in his voice at my inability to recognize a "simple" clothing brand, and I sighed.

"Alright, alright, _Carmen _Marc Valvo," I droned, putting the same emphasis on the name _Carmen _that he had.

"Good. That's a brand of designer dresses. They sell them at that store on the corner of Main and Fifth Street."

"What's the name of the store?" I inquired, settling for a bowl of Cheerios.

Awaiting his response as I flipped open the top of the box, I was rewarded with silence. I hesitated, and was about to check the phone to see if the call had been lost or something, when he spoke.

"Carmen Marc Valvo."

My face flushed, and I pushed the cereal box away from me, turning the happy, smiling cartoon bee face away from me and towards to oven, so he wouldn't have to see me in one of my frequent moments of shame.

"Oh."

Someone in the background of the phone sneezed, then I continued.

"Well, I suppose I'll be paying a leg and both my arms for one dress?"

"Not at all. That would be a deal breaker for the siblings."

"Well, I guess I'll have to break into my life savings, then."

"_What _life savings?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant yours."

With anyone else, the parent would have given their child a sound warning, maybe even a chuckle as they mumbled something along the lines of "Yeah, _right_", before normal conversation commenced. With _my _father, however, being the greedy little bastard that he is, he offered me a moment of silence to regret my words before I heard a deafening click.

Oh well. I had already squeezed every ounce of information I would need from him, anyway.

It took all of about an hour to find a dress I could _kind of _see myself in. I'm not sure if it was just me, but it seemed that the fashion industry had taken a detour down Whore Lane. Everything was _too _steep of a V-cut neckline, or _too _short of a skirt, or rode up my thigh a bit _too _far, so that it wasn't even ending at my thigh anymore. The clerk had called it "sexy", with a a coy wink, but I had a whole chapter of other words for the skanky loincloths.

In the end, a pricey jade-green, one-shouldered cocktail dress was what I settled on. It didn't even have a V-cut or look like someone took a pair of scissors up the side of it, and it was knee-length, so I was happy. Or, at least as happy as me wearing a dress was ever going to get.

The things people do for their careers amaze me. Especially when that person is me.

I stopped in at the office before heading over to the Olive Garden place at a quarter until eleven. Sakura was there, organizing files alphabetically-- Something my superintendent had been talking about doing himself for weeks but never lifted a finger to do so. I realized that he must have finally gotten someone else to do what he knew he himself would never get up to do.

I know what an oddly entertaining sight I had to have been-- Me, the slacker who never slapped on anything but jeans and a band t-shirt, was standing in my boss's doorway, clad in a green cocktail dress, black heel-less clogs (it'd be a cold day in hell before I was caught with heels) and beige tights, and yet my trademark messenger bag was _still _strapped across my chest. My hair was falling in reckless waves around my face, and not even I realized it was this long, since it was almost always thrown up into a slop of a bun.

His lips quivered as a sly grin threatened to cross them, and I braced myself for the Hell I knew he was about to bring. Dark eyes gleaming with amusement, he ran a hand through his full head of silver hair.

"Is that... _lipstick_?"

With pursed lips I shook my head, denying him that grim satisfaction. After all, it wasn't lip_stick_-- it was lip _gloss_. I took perhaps my only chance for escape while he was distracted trying to decipher if I had lied to him or not about the lipstick.

"I have a lunch... _thing _with Gaara's siblings. You'll get a full report first thing Monday morning."

My responsibility completed, I ducked out of his office and retreated to my vehicle.

* * *

As I parked my car into the driving lot, I suddenly wished I had stopped at Wal-Mart and bought a name tag or something. I had no idea what, or who, I was looking for. All I could hope for was that this place accepted reservations, and that Temari had made one.

I stepped inside, and instantly felt overdressed. Blood rushed to my face, as casually-dressed people skirted around me. I sighed, and walked up to the only other formally-dressed person besides myself-- the host.

He stared at me for a moment, a friendly, plastic smile on his face, before I realized I didn't know what to ask, or where to start.

Do you accept reservations? Do I look like an idiot to you? Do you know a Temari? Does this Italian place by any chance serve Mexican food?

Before I could blurt anything out, however, a hand laid itself softly on my shoulder. Turning my head in the direction of the hand's owner, I felt my ego take a blow below the belt.

She was a stunning woman, tall with a good six inches on me, slim, and the epitome of the ideal model. Her shoulder length blond hair hung down in her dark teal eyes, her teeth a row of pearly perfection as she flashed a smile at me.

"Miyune?" I heard her ask from my realm of envy.

"Uhm... Yes?"

She nodded, and I allowed her to steer me away from the host.

"Sorry about the confusion. I tried to watch for you from inside the doors, but I guess I missed you."

Her voice suddenly found its familiar place in my mind, with its proper, kind-spoken dialect.

"Temari?" I question, still skeptical.

For being siblings, the woman looked nothing like her red-headed younger brother. She nodded again, confirming my suspicions.

"Kankuro's already holding down a table for us."

"How'd you know it was me?" I blurted suddenly, still coping with my confusion.

She smiled bashfully at me for a moment, before admitting,

"Just the way you acted."

_"The way I.."_

I felt my cheeks go hot yet again. She thought I was odd, and when she saw me, dressed for the prom in a casual restaurant and staring stupidly at the host, it wouldn't have taken her long to put two and two together.

At least she had been kind enough not to laugh and say, "Hard _not _to know. You're a freakin' _tard_!"

Kankuro was no less of a looker than his sister, I quickly learned.

Temari guided me to the fort Kankuro was holding down, and Kankuro was a lean, handsome brunette with a crop of hair similar to that of Gaara's except for the color. His features were much broader than those of the soft ones of his brother and sister, but none the less, attractive.

His arm was slung over the arch of the chair beside him, leaning back with one knees propped against the table.

Temari quickly slapped that very knee as we reach the table, and he glared at her as she sat down beside of him. I took my seat across from her, fiddling with the hem of my cocktail dress. I couldn't help but analyze their clothing, and felt a little relieved that I was only a little more "dressed up" than they were. Temari wore a light purple shirt and a tan skirt, while Kankuro was donned in all black, a form-fitting sweater and dress slacks.

"Look," Temari began, leaning forward in her chair.

She clasped her hands in front of her, lacing her fingers.

"We appreciate what you're trying to do for Gaara."

My eyes shifted to Kankuro, who had dropped his arm from the chair, and now had his hands folded lazily between his knees as he mirrored his sister and leaned forward. His eyes were hard, scrutinizing, and carried skepticism as he didn't try to hide the obvious fact that he was trying to read me.

"I do what I can," I replied.

"But Gaara won't let you in," She murmured softly, her voice almost a whisper.

I suddenly got the sinking feeling that I wasn't the only one Gaara closed out.

Nodding, my gaze went back to Temari.

"But Gaara won't let me in."

She sighed, flattening her palms against the surface of the table.

"He's always been like that, ever since he was a child. And it's not just the solitude. He was always instigating fights in his school years, and if Kankuro and I hadn't pulled so many strings, he would have been expelled before he even finished his sophomore year of high school."

I nodded in understanding, pleased to finally be getting somewhere with Gaara. I'd been trying to pry into his past without ticking him off by asking him personally, but his records had nothing in them, and Kakashi didn't know where I could find anything that did.

"So, he knows martial arts?" I probed.

"No, not at all," Temari revealed.

"It's not that he's trained his body, but it's more like..."

She pressed her index finger to her lips and her eyes flickered towards the ceiling, thoughtful. Kankuro cleared his throat, and finished for his sister.

"It's that he's a resourceful little prick."

Temari exhaled curtly, glaring daggers at her brother. Kankuro ignored her, and continued.

"He can't throw a straight punch to save his life, but give him a wrapper and he'll give you the worst paper cut of your life. He'll find a way to impale you with a bottle cap, or suffocate you with a model airplane."

"So... He's smart," I concluded.

"He's _dangerous_," Kankuro corrected firmly.

" 'Course Temari and I didn't want to see him go to be locked up in some cage at some mental health institute, but it was preferable to the alternative. Temari was a wreck that they were gonna send him to prison for murder, so she pleaded insanity."

One of Kankuro's eyes shut firmly, nodding once curtly. Temari stared down at her lap, silently removing herself from the conversation.

"Insanity?" I repeated, my brain not processing the same information from Gaara that his siblings apparently had. "His file said he had blackouts."

Kankuro scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned further forward.

"That fucker doesn't have _blackouts_. He knows _exactly _what the hell he's doin'."

I found it hard-- no-- _impossible _to believe that twelve different doctors had all signed statements concluding the same exact things among all of them, and for it not to be true. Blackouts were commonly accompanied with bipolar disorder, which didn't match Gaara. He was always angry, so I always knew what to expect from him-- something you can't predict with bipolar disorder patients. Few with bipolar disorder were serious enough to be hospitalized, anyway-- I had never treated any, as a matter of fact. Something was _truly _not right here.

"Then, why did you have all those doctors write for the courts, pleading blackouts?"

He jerked his thumb in Temari's direction.

"Her idea, along with some _schizo _bullshit."

I had to do a double take at Temari, nearly giving myself whip-lash.

Bipolar, blackouts, schizophrenia _and _insanity? I found myself wondering how their case passed through the court system, because it just kept sounding less and less believable. Then, something struck me like lightning...

_"Her idea..."_

_Idea_...

It was all made up.

She stared guiltily at me, and at that moment, I realized that they didn't really think Gaara had any of those things at all-- Temari just didn't want to see her little brother go to prison. I sighed, shaking my head angrily.

"No," I responded firmly.

"Gaara doesn't have any of that junk. He has histrionic-narcissist disorder."

Temari exhaled the breath she'd been holding, but Kankuro look at me as if I'd suddenly sprouted three heads.

"_What_?"

"He also a bit antisocial."

"No shit, Sherlock," Kankuro scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "We knew that long before we knew he needed help."

"But you guys don't get it," I pressed eagerly. "Gaara doesn't need to be in that hospital."

I thought they might breathe a sigh of relief, maybe stand up and dance or something. Instead, they exchanged nervous glances with one another, before lauching themselves into a full-blown onslaught that drew onlookers.

"No way! What kind of doctor _are _you?" Kankuro demanded in disgust.

"You're mistaken," Temari agreed firmly.

As if I had wasted _my_ degree. My name wasn't Richard.

"He's an angry person, but that by itself doesn't constitute hospitalization. He does it on purpose, but he's not half as angry as you seem to think he is," I explained.

"You're full of shit," Kankuro chuckled bitterly.

I set my jaw, tilting my head to the side angrily.

"He doesn't like the company of other people, so he scares them off so he can be alone. He's narcissistic, hence thinking he is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The reason he attacked people was because he's self-centered, wanted everyone around to him go away, and knew he had the ability to make them leave him alone, so he acts upon it. The way I see it, he couldn't think of a better place to be."

Both of their mouths snapped shut, staring at me with identical shocked expressions.

I didn't need a patient to come right out and jump up and down waving their hand in the air, screaming, "I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder! See, watch! Oh, so dirty, dirty, so very, very dirty..."

Don't get me wrong; it would be so much easier if people worked like that. But the unfortunate truth of it all is that most patients don't even know what they have, or even if what they have is a mental or personality issue. It's my job to make them talk about themselves, or, in Gaara's case, _act _himself, and come to a conclusion based upon what I see. Gaara would strut out of the door as much as the chains would let him, then scare me off with intimidation, and only when that failed would he launch his attack, verbal and physical. Only once had I made the mistake of getting close enough for him to grab me. He would try to flip the table separating us, spit chewed-up nougat at me, and on one occasion, threatened to kill my mother.

I had merely smiled sadly at him, swallowing hard as I digested his insult.

"You're too late for that one, Gaara."

I was surprised I had been able to choke out even that sentence, but it had shut him up pretty quick in any case.

He merely stared at me with a blank expression on his porcelain face. After a few seconds, I forced myself to meet his gaze, and we stayed like that for what seemed like an hour. Eventually, he sighed angrily, obviously displeased, and demanded to be taken back to "Purgatory".

"I'm going to suggest to my supervisor that Gaara be released," I admitted, not entirely sure I should be telling these two.

Temari gasped, and Kankuro's jaw fell open in horror. I decided to finish my statement before they exploded on me again.

"If that happens, he'll definitely be placed on probation, and it's likely he might have to spend some jail time, or at the very least serve some serious community service. He'll also have to attend psychiatric sessions to cope with his anger issues, and I'm going to ask to be the one to deal with him, but other than that he'll be able to live a normal life outside that stupid cell."

Just as the waiter finally made his way through the busy restaurant and to our table, I ditched the room and fled outside. Slipping into the driver's seat of my car, I sat shaking until I calmed myself down enough to successfully slide the key into the ignition.

Social situations drove me crazy, but it was the tense ones that really made me feel as if _I _was the one who needed help.


	3. Chapter Three

"You sure this is what you want?"

Kakashi's palm rested on his left cheek, his fingers sprawled across his face. His eyes held a certain haunting solemness about them as he stared at me, it was as if he was silently urging, insisting that I laugh and say, "Hell, _no_, I'm not sure." I didn't like deliberately going against what I knew my boss wanted, but I would not back down from this.

"Yeah," I answered flatly, hoping my tone closed the matter. "I'm sure."

The man blinked, his lips a thin, stoic line.

"But are you _sure_?"

I had the sudden urge to pounce onto his desk and slap him relentlessly, while screaming into that too-serious face, "_Yes_! Yes, you prude bastard, I'm _sure_!"

Miraculously, I resisted, and when the feeling faded, I replied.

"Positive."

"Really?"

"_Kakashi_..."

Shamelessly, he had reduced me to pathetic whinning now.

"How positive are you?"

"Positively positive."

"What makes you so confident?"

This question stung. It was like he'd poured salt into the rhetorical wound. My bruised ego gave me a sudden boost of unfounded strength, and I felt unusually bold.

"Why are you so determined to convince me that I'm not capable of handling him? I'm the best you could ever _hope _to have, and you know it. If anyone can tackle this, you _know _it's me."

Kakashi's instant surprise drove his eyebrows into his hairline, and I realized that sometime during my brief rant, I had clenched my fists and planted my knuckles on either side of the documents he'd previously been reading before I'd entered and had leaned forward across his desk so far, I was practically laying on it. Sucking in my breath, I slowly straightened my posture, only to catch myself bowing apologetically to him.

"Sorry... That was out of line."

But I knew it wasn't. A realization made me see that it had actually been exactly what he'd wanted out of me- _passion _for my work. And to prove me right, a satisfied grin broke across his face.

"Not at all. In fact, you're _right_. I would pick no one else to doctor Gaara."

I bit down on my lip, knowing full well what had just happened. It wasn't that Kakashi was bipolar- as funny as that would be to say about my boss. Just as my forte was picking apart the mentally confused and impaired, his was a talent I envied more than anything. He was a translator, a decipherer of _everyone's _minds, normal and crazy folk alike. _Tests_, as he liked to call them. Tests in which, much like this pop quiz, I always passed.

That's how I got dubbed with "The Best" gold star on my rhetorical chart early on in my career.

For most people, Kakashi's disturbingly _clever _personality was too much for them at first, and they were all stumped that first time he turned psycho-asshole on them.

But not me. Never me.

The field of psychology was, and still is, a very competitive career path. That's why when I landed the interview slot for my current occupation straight out of college, I put myself in the mindset, "I will not screw up, I will _not _screw up."

I guess I psyched myself out, because I screwed up.

As I distinctly remember, there had been four people other than myself in that "waiting room" we now refer to as the front lobby. One of them had shone out among all of us as a natural genius in this line of work, and it was obvious she knew as much, seeing as how she liked to remind us of that detail. This woman was, of course, none other than miss Sakura herself, though two years my senior. She'd instantly emanated confidence from her being in waves, boasting that Kakashi had once been her high school professor before he'd accepted his current position, and therefore knew exactly what to expect from him. She was no less confident in her success when she exited the "interviewer's" office in which I would come to dread the very breathing area of. I was dead last to be interviewed, and as I stepped into Kakashi's office, I desperately wanted to throw myself onto his Martha Stewart-like rug in front of his desk in my nervousness, grasping the material in great handfuls. I longed to bury my face in the rug and see just how well it would muffle my screams of anxiety. He watched me as I stared longingly at the carpet, fantasizing about throwing myself onto the floor. Finally, I brought myself to meet his gaze, and nearly did that odd klutzy choke-on-my-own-spit thing.

Skin so pale it should have looked as sickly as mine, but somehow, he pulled it off with class grace his flesh. Maybe it was the abnormally white-silver hair slicked off to the side that made him seem good-looking despite the obvious skin pigmentation impairment. I realized dully that his beady black eyes were trained carefully on me, already dissecting me, picking me apart, but I didn't mind, because I was still lost in admiring him. (Ah... the young adult days in which my hormones were barely kept under control in my pants... I don't miss those days.) Instead, I pretended he was admiring me in the same way I saw him.

It worked... or, at least it did until he decided to open his mouth, the bastard.

"You know, we have sexual harassment sessions on the first Thursday of every other month. It might benefit you to attend one, even if you _aren't _hired."

Blood rushed to my face immediately, as if he'd flipped a switch and it was all draining into my face with nowhere else to flow. In the same instant, my attraction to this guy dropped like a rock, and some primal self-defense mechanism kick-started.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was just trying to decipher the junk in between your teeth."

I regretted my words the second they fell from my lips, as I watched his brow arch in shock. His body jerked impulsively towards the wall mirror beside him, his fingers twitched absent-mindedly over his pale lips before he knew what he was doing. I hated myself in that instant, because suddenly, I did the one thing my father had always raised me _not _to do, especially in a professional environment, because it was a sure-fire deal-breaker, and I _laughed_.

It wasn't one of those casual, soft-chuckles, either. This sound had been obnoxious, and completely un-professional. Honestly, I couldn't have looked worse if I'd farted on the guy.

I had expected him to recover, frown, and point towards the door. Instead, an amused smile spread across his face, and he leaned back against the frame of his desk, folding his arms across his chest as his cautious analyzing turned into amused studying. In that instant, it was as if the entire composition of the atmosphere had changed.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Haven't yet."

"Well, what is it?"

"Miyune."

"Have a last name?"

"Agnusdei."

"Is that name of French decent?"

"Italian."

"Ah. Leaning Tower of Pisa is quite the sight."

"Wouldn't know. Never been to Italy."

His smile broadened, as if genuinely entertained by that fun-fact.

"That's right..." He murmured, tilting his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"You're the one who sent the letter of recommendation from Doctor Ward. Very impressive."

I nodded in assent, pleased he correctly identified my letter specifically. Doctor Ward was my favorite European cardiologist. Well... he was my _only _European cardiologist. I liked him mainly because he never gave me odd looks whenever I slipped up and asked something completely out of left field. I didn't know what possessed him to do such a thing, but he called me one day, and asked me if I had anyone willing to write a letter of recommendation for me, following a very off-the-wall conversation about the hells of going through eight years of college. I told him no, and he volunteered to write one for me. Of course, I had been ecstatic to oblige.

A sense of pride filled me, seeing how my potential employer had remembered _my _letter out of the countless that had been submitted. That pride stayed with me until he added,

"...and that application essay you submitted. Blandest thing I've ever read."

My heart immediately plummeted into my stomach. The fact that he never stopped smiling was just another slap in the face he was dealing me.

"You aren't a flowery writer."

It had been a statement, an observation, not a question. And he was absolutely right. I didn't write all calligraphy-like with details and colorful and exotic descriptions.

"No," I agreed, my voice ladden with disappointment.

"You get straight to the point. No unnecessary details. No sappy dialogue."

My head rose once again, instantly suspicious of where he was taking this conversation.

"This isn't high school English class. I don't want sympathetic sob stories, or satires, or parodies. Your emotions get in the way of your better judgement at this place. The only emotion you need here... is _passion_. That's it."

I stared at him for a while after that, while he just smiled at me.

I didn't know it then, but I would come to remember that phrase by heart. I'd repeat it to myself like my own personal mantra. It's written down somewhere... I'm not sure where, anymore, but it's not like I need it anyway. His words have long since been committed permanently into my memory.

I left his office that day feeling unsure of myself... not that the feeling was a stranger to me by any means. Uncertainty was a feeling I was accompanied by just as frequently as the air I breathe. I wasn't sure I had gotten that job.

But I had.

I had beaten the confident Sakura Haruno out of getting that job.

In ten minutes time, I had made more of an impression on Kakashi than she'd made on him in an entire year of being his student, plus the same ten minutes I'd been allotted.

Kakashi hired me. In no time at all, I had proven my worth to him. I was invaluable. Irreplaceable before Sakura was hired six months later when the next positioned opened. My standing with Kakashi alienated everyone from me, from prior employees to those who would be hired in the future. If I'd had an chance of befriending my co-workers before, I didn't now.

Not that I'd been holding my breath on that one to begin with.

Besides, I'd landed the job I wanted without any snags. What more could I ask for?

_"A patient that cooperated with the crazy chick trying to bail him out of the nuthouse,"_ I soon realized was the answer to that question.

For the first time in my life, I actually had to _sit down and mentally recite what I was going to say to a_ patient.

This alone was proof Gaara didn't belong in that cell of his.

I had to plan ahead my conversations with him, just like I had to plan ahead with everyone else outside these walls.

Craning my neck, I rocked back on the balls of my feet, simultaneously anticipating his arrival, and yet a part of me dreaded the encounter, too.

This nagging feeling told me that the union wouldn't be pretty.

I swear I almost left my skin behind me as I jumped as the stupid, squeaky door swung wide open, and I scowled. I was going to tell them to oil the stupid thing one of these days. My hands stuffed into my coat pockets, my fingers anxiously found stray pocket lint, and began to fiddle with the little fluffy material nervously. The man beside me, supposedly a member of the police task force and Gaara's new probation officer, with his bowl-cut hair-do and eyebrows that seemed to eat away at his face, did little to make me feel safe. He was a nice man, as far as I could tell, but not exactly the stuff I envisioned it would take to keep Gaara in line.

As usual, Gaara was chained like a wild animal being hauled against his will to the circus. But today was different. And just like an animal, I think he could smell _that_, too. His teal eyes were still glazed over with the same hatred, the same unwelcoming frown etched onto his porcelain pale face that he always greeted me with. And yet, there was a subtle confusion inlaid behind the loathing, and I knew that a fragment of him had to have known that something about my visit today was not normal.

The two men who always seemed to flank the man where ever he went rose their stony faces, looking to me for consent, in which I curtly returned with a heavy nod. Reluctantly, one of the raven-haired body-builders planted his hands firmly onto Gaara's shoulders, as the other went to work on his shackles.

Gaara was immediately astounded, his mouth ever so slightly ajar, taking turns gaping at the two of them in awe. He didn't even bother to struggle against them at all. It was the first emotion I'd ever seen him display, other than anger, and quite frankly, I was glad I could witness it. I grinned despite myself, knowing that eventually the shock would wear off of him, and he would be a loose cannon to learn that I was taking him out of his quiet sanctuary.

Unfortunately, that shock wore off much more quickly than I hoped. His confusion and surprise contorted to fury as realization dawned on his face.

"_You_..." He choked out the word venomously.

Had I still been the awkward, anti-social, spineless girl I had been in my high school years, I would have headed for the hills the moment that man had given me this look that so clearly enunciated,

_"I'm going to kill you slowly, painfully, and ever so thoroughly."_

But now, I was an awkward, anti-social woman with something of a spine... or, at the very least, some form of substitution for one, and I boldly held my ground.

"You're fit to live in society, Gaara," I explained cautiously to him as he fumed silently. "You don't have to stay here."

I waited for him to argue with me, to admit that he wanted to stay within these walls. Where it was much quieter. Where it was predictable. Where he was alone.

Well... alone, with the recent exception of me, however.

And now, I was taking all that away from him.

I imagine he wasn't a happy camper. Or a camper at all. It didn't look to me like he was much of a camping kind of guy.

But it wasn't _right_.

If there had been such a thing established, you better believe I would be working for the Moral Police.

Over this past weekend, I'd learned something that had both disgusted and impressed me at the same time.

He and his siblings had weaseled their way through the System with _cold, hard cash_.

Oh, the places you'll go... when you have enough money to _bathe _yourself with.

It was despicable, really. His siblings stuck him in that place, paid all those doctors to lie about Gaara so the punk could get the isolation he wanted.

It was enough to make you vomit.

It was enough to make me angry, and it did.

But as soon as the realization hit me that my father would have cheated the system to get me _out _just as the Hisabakus cheated to get their little brother _in_, all identically out of selfishness, that fury didn't seem so bold anymore.

_"It isn't the same thing,"_ a timid little voice in the back of my head tried to argue.

But I _knew _it was lying, because it was _exactly _the same thing.

After that, it wasn't like I could honestly stay angry for long.

No, because even that anger paled in comparison to my new patient's, and after all, I was supposed to be the rays of sunshine in his otherwise polluted, cloudy world.

I'll admit, I was slightly skittish about just waltzing out of the courthouse with an _unchained _man who had mauled me while he _had _been chained and getting into my car (a small enclosure) with him and the wimpy-looking officer. But, I steeled my nerves, reminding myself that even if Mr. Bushy brow here was of little to no help, _I _was the one among us with real physical training. So as long as I could keep him away from wrappers, bottle caps, paper airplanes, knives, blunt objects and just about anything and everything he could pick up, I should be fine.

Guess that meant no more Snickers bars for my little Mister Sunshine.

He climbed into the passenger side of my car, slamming the door shut forcefully after him. The officer showed a little more courtesy for my poor vehicle as he slid into the back seat, carefully shutting the door behind him. I had been prepared for him to try to make a break for it ever since we'd left the hospital, but here nine hours later of him obediently following the regulations of our wonderful country's legal court customs, the shock that he hadn't tried to run was wearing off. In fact, the only threatening thing he did was sit and glare. At everyone. Including me.

_Especially _me.

I rested a moment against my car, the driver's side door hanging wide open. When I finally did join the two men in the vehicle, _he _spoke.

"Where are you taking me now?"

His raspy voice struck my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. He had such a menacing, unwelcoming voice, he'd never land a job as an operator, secretary, or anything that involved speaking in any way.

"_We_," I began deliberately, enunciating the word precisely to convey the fact that the three of us were, unfortunately, now officially the three musketeers (and I had the court paperwork to prove it, too), "are going to your siblings' home."

"No."

I blinked rapidly, and decided to go against my better judgement and question his answer.

"You don't even know which sibling I was referring to."

His eyes narrowed into little more than slits, before he spat,

"I don't like either of them."

This news took my by surprise. From what I'd seen, the only one that seemed to have a problem with Gaara was Kankuro. Temari had been the one desperate enough to pay his way to the happy house. Then again, my father would have paid big money to keep me out of the psychiatric ward... and that didn't necessarily mean he was getting any "Number One Dad!" T-shirts from me when Father's Day rolled around.

"You have to go somewhere," I continued to press. "You can't live on your own. You have no funds."

"I'll get them from Temari."

"And until then?"

I wondered, was this guy's anti-social narcissism potent enough to keep him from holding down a stable job?

"Just leave me _alone_. I don't care where I'm at."

Yeah, I think it was. I have to say, he has some _awesome _people skills. Made me look like a freaking social butterfly.

I slid my key into the ignition, and shifted the clutch as I backed out of the parking lot.

"Can't do that. Sorry."

His palm came down hard on the dashboard, and if it hadn't been for my ninja skills, I would have driven us into a phone pole.

"Why the hell not?" He demanded furiously.

His voice was heavy, ragged, and came out in short breaths as if he'd just finished running a marathon. A quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye assured me that he was thoroughly ticked. Bushy brow wasn't phased in the least, I noticed with a brief look in my mirror, positioning himself on the edge of his seat as if ready to tackle Gaara to the car floor should the man make a move to attack. Carefully steering the out onto the freeway, I collected myself enough to respond.

"You and your siblings cheated the system," I replied matter-of-factly, placing plenty of anemosity in my voice as his jaw went slack on me.

"They paid a pretty penny to make you look crazier than you really are, cleverly going to the doctors most easily persuaded, all because you didn't want to be bothered by anyone, ever, and for some reason, they actually listened to your selfish ass. Thing is, they didn't clean up their mess, so when I figured it out, both of them and the greedy doctors now all have an even prettier fine to pay to society if they enjoy life outside of jail. You've worked very hard to uphold your prestigious psycho image, Gaara, but acting isn't good enough, not with me, and now I've got a surprise for you."

Just for the sheer effect, I tilted my head towards him and lowered my voice as I felt an arrogant grin break across my face.

"I can tell. I sense a disturbance in the Force, and you still have much to learn about the crazies, young Padawan."

I figured that rip-off from 'Star Wars' would have been enough to set him off- again- but all he did was glare at me as usual. I took the opportunity to continue.

"You're not stealing the taxpayer's money to sit in a padded cell day in and day out. It isn't right, and I'd never allow it. You're going to be a good boy and attend psychiatric sessions with me, and check in with Bushy brow back there, while you treat your older brother who so obviously showers you with his blessings like the gold you both know he is."

"Please!" Bushy brow clarified. "My name is Lee!"

"I _hate _Kankuro," Gaara spat furiously, unamused by my sarcasm.

"Well, you're going to learn to _unhate _him."

_"I'll kill you both."_

He spoke the sentence so nonchalantly, it was as if he were commenting on the weather, or my clothes. This fact made it even more frightening, and sent chills shuddering through the entire course of my body. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood on end, petrified. Bushy brow recovered before I did.

"You will do no such thing!"

Wow, he sure had a way with words. A natural Casanova.

"Not to mention," I quickly added, the lump finally having fallen from my throat, "you'd be sent to a very unpadded cell with roommates called Big John and Uncle Sara-the-transvestite, seeing as how I doubt Temari will bail you out of trouble again."

"Fuck you."

"Hey, I don't appreciate that word, so I'd watch my tongue if you don't want your mouth literally washed out with soap."

The mental image filled my mind with glee, and I smiled. He must've taken the hint, or resorted to quietly plotting my death, because the rest of the journey was deadly silent.

* * *

"So, has he actually killed anyone before?"

Kakashi had Gaara's doctor's notes from his file spread side by side across his desk. His eyes scanned the identical diagnoses written across every one.

"He's gotten busted for DUI thirteen times, eight since he turned twenty-one, and five before then. As a junior in high school, he reportedly brought a common kitchen knife to his classes."

"Miyu... that's not murder."

"Nope."

He shifted his gaze from his desk to my face, irritation flashing across his demeanor.

"Every single one of these notices express blackouts, severe violence and murder convictions."

"Not hard to dig up," I insisted.

"They _all _lied?"

"You have your Internet browser pulled up?"

"No need. I trust your word."

Kakashi's eyes locked onto Gaara's who glared back at him fearlessly. I had the sudden desire to just watch these two duke it out right there in the office. I knew that Kakashi knew martial arts as well, but had never seen him in action before, and for that reason, I knew that any fight between him and Gaara would be completely one-sided, but...

"So, what's your diagnosis of him, Miyu?"

"Narcissism. Histrionic-narcissist disorder, actually."

"Anti-social tendencies?" Kakashi inquired, cocking his head to the side as he continued his intense staring contest.

I grinned, not surprised in the least bit. My boss was crazy-good at what he did.

"Yeah."

"What are you still doing here, then? Get a new, _accurate _report written on him."

I shuffled through my messenger bag, and withdrew a typed four pages, including a cover page, and handed it to him.

"Done," I announced proudly.

Kakashi took it, flipping to the first page as he reached for his the back of his chair.

"Oh, and press charges on Temari and Kankuro Hisabaku, as well as the mentioned doctors for misdiagnosis."

My fingers turned cold, as Kakashi finally broke gaze with Gaara to read my report as he took a seat in his chair.

"I... don't want to do that."

"It wasn't a suggestion, Miyune," He clarified, never taking his eyes from the paper as he licked his thumb and flipped to the next page.

"I know this, it's just... I don't want to."

Kakashi brought his chin up to stare calmly me, immediately beginning to pick my head apart into little bitty pieces to reorganize to his liking in front of him on his cherry wood finish desk. As it was impulse for me to do when he tried to "figure" me out, I forced my face into a detached mask of apathy. Gaara stared at me, also obviously trying to read me, but having even less success than Kakashi, as his lips contorted into a nasty sneer.

"Then file a complaint at the very least," My boss answered very slowly, emphasizing every syllable he spoke.

"Then the psychiatric ward would just press charges."

"Precisely," Kakashi chuckled, baring his pearly whites at me. "That way, you won't be stuck with the guilt, hmm?"

_So that was it._

Kakashi thought I was feeling guilty about sueing them.

I was disappointed in him. He obviously didn't know me very well at all. Normally, I'd sue a child's puppy if I thought it had interfered with any case of mine.

So what was the problem now? Why was I hesitating to press charges on those who had so obviously done wrong?

I wasn't sure I knew.

But what I did know was that I absolutely could not leave the issue hanging in midair like this. If I tried to keep the matter under wraps, I would get found out, and then the company would get sued. As much as Kakashi liked having me around, not even he would have a job if the big wigs brought the rhetorical hammer down on the company and shattered the building into little tiny pieces.

So I did the only thing I could, and nodded. His smiled lingered a moment longer, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that his thoughts had been similar to mine.

"Where will Gaara here be staying?"

"With me," Bushy brow decided to pipe up, stabbing his thumb at his chest.

Kakashi arched a curious brow at the man, his lips never faltering as he took in the guy's bowl-cut and carnivorous eyebrows, never cracking a smile. Man, he was a pro to be admired, he was.

"My name is Lee, and I am Gaara's probation officer."

"Probation officer..." Kakashi repeated, scratching his chin.

"Okay. That works. However..."

He glanced down at the report I'd written, then back up at Bushy brow.

"... this report states that he is "resourceful", and cannot be trusted around several objects..."

Kakashi's eyes flickered towards the copier just outside his office door.

"... tell you what. Why don't you just make a copy of this, read it thoroughly, and act accordingly?"

Bushy brow took my report with a curt nod, before exiting the room to make copies of the pages it contained. Kakashi plucked his cappuccino cup from his desk, shaking the empy cup, a heartbroken look falling over his face.

"Ah, damn..." He shook the cup again, as if hoping it might magically refill itself. "Miyune? Why don't you go fill this up in the break room while I watch your bundle of joy?"

I obeyed like the trained circus clown that I was, and took his cup. Placing the cup under the cappuccino nozzle and pressed the button, I swatted at a ladybug resting on top of the machine. Just to be careful, I snagged a lid for him, and embarked back to the office. Upon my return, Kakashi offered some enlightening words for Gaara and me.

"Regardless of his reputation, I hope we can come to an understanding that the second he touches a hair on your head, I'll personally feed him to my dog. You'd better tell me, Miyune, because the first bullshit story you try to feed me about "falling down the stairs", you're desert." He turned to Gaara, who glared at him angrily, only to have his look cast back at him in Kakashi's eyes. "If we're clear on that, you can leave with Lee when he's finished there."

Because my brain and mouth never coordinated correctly, I blurted out, "I'm the M C Hammer, Kakashi. He can't touch me."

If I read the maliciously look in their eyes correctly, they _both _really might try to kill me.


	4. Chapter Four

As a child, my mother and I would dye eggs different colors. We'd draw designs on the shells with paint and crayons, and end up having a at least two dozen a good week in advance for the holiday every year. Mom would always kiss me on the forehead, smiling that bring smile of hers that always made hearts melt and was more contagious than the flu.

One April morning, the last day before my elementary school let out for spring break, my father warned me to keep my nose clean before he left for work. I had turned to my mother and asked her if my father had a pathological fear of boogers. She laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard me say, and asked where I'd heard the word "pathological" before, and if I knew what it meant. I explained that my teacher had asked me a similar question about chalkdust when I'd done the chicken dance in the midst of class trying to get chalkdust off of my clothes. Laughing again, she walked me to me to the bus stop, promising that when I got home that day after school, I could look for our colored Easter eggs in our backyard that she would strategically camoflague while I was away. She'd hide those flimsy, plastic eggs, too, and filled them with chocolate, candy, pocket change, and, if I was lucky to find that single golden egg before my father, a five dollar bill. He'd run through the yard, sprinting on his long legs, bypassing every other egg he found and leaving them for me to find, seeking that single egg. He called it "initiative". My mother had called it "father-daughter competitiveness", with a gigle and a roll of her eyes. I still call it "being a selfish asshole". Eventually, I learned to forget all the other eggs at the beginning of the hunt, too. I went head to head with my father, going for nothing but that golden egg so I could get what my mother rightfully left for me and me alone.

I still think the wrong parent died.

My father has never looked twice at a woman in twenty years, but he never bothered to keep my mother's memory alive, either. No more Easter eggs. No more egg hunts. No more dragging me to pick out the prettiest, frilliest dress the store owned and force me into it for church on Easter Sunday. Even Christmas consisted of a single gift exchange; something I'd tearfully fretted over for weeks making at school for a t-shirt I wouldn't have the audacity to wear. Mom, who had been the bissgest holiday nut known to mankind, would have rolled over in her grave had she ever had to see the pitiful state our so-called "holiday celebrations" had sank to. The house remained unlighted and undecorated year-round, the yard barrenly green and egg-free, without so much as a Christmas Tree assembled in the living room.

When I moved out on my own, I hadn't planned on carrying on Mom's traditions on by myself. But slowly, surely, that's precisely what happened. I began to go to the store, and see the lights I knew she'd love to have hung. A stupid stuffed Santa that I'd buy and sit pitifully on his lonesome in the window. Before long, I was deliberately going shopping for the holidays, including buying a pine tree for decoration.

The holidays were the one thing besides my job and martial arts that I took seriously anymore.

So you can imagine what I was like a week before Easter, my personal favorite holiday.

Some habits die hard, even after the reason you picked them up was long gone.

It was ritualistic for me to call off work the Friday before Easter. Kakashi didn't pretend to understand, but he didn't argue, either. Eventually, he learned to go ahead and schedule me off before I needed to ask.

There was just one more appointment I never got the chance to cancel, too.

I was painting boiled eggs when my doorbell rang. My brush quivered, marking a permanent dark pink blemish on it. I scowled and swore at it, as if it was its fault people were at my door.

"Who did you invite over this time," I found myself mumbling randomly.

I opened the door, genuinely expecting my father. He didn't pay frequent visits, but then again, he was the only person who had visited me here, ever. So, I felt next to no shame when I answered the door in grey draw-string sweatpants rolled up to my knees, a black men's retro-style "The Doors" t-shirt at least three sizes too big for me, barefoot, and with my nappy brown hair thrown up into a slop of a bun that I was well aware was falling out in at least twenty different places.

My face flushed red, my jaw dropping as I stared into curiously amused teal eyes, shimmering with that malice I was so familiar with.

_"Shit."_

"Mi-yune..." Bushy brow stammered out, arching one of his massive eyebrows at my attire.

"What... uh, are you doing here?" I blurted out stupidly.

"One o'clock session with Gaara? Friday evening?"

"I never consented to that."

"_Kakashi _assured me that he would fill you in."

I glared over my shoulder at the egg I'd mismarked, feeling my scowl resurface.

"_Kakashi _is a dead man," I informed it angrily.

Bushy brow stood awkwardly in the doorway, shuffling his feet as Gaara stood with his arms folded across his chest, my embarrassment obviously pleasing him. A glance into Lee's eyes asked me his silent question. I sighed, waving my hand dismissively.

"No."

"No what?" He inquired.

"No, we don't have to reschedule. Leave him here."

"Alone?" Bushy brow blurted in awe. "But, are you sure that is a wise-?"

"I'm a black belt in Judo," I explained, jerking my thumb to the wall beside my stereo set, in which all of my respective belts were hung side by side, nailed into the plaster. "I can take care of myself, even against Cujo here."

Gaara's eyes narrowed dangerously, so I'm assuming he saw the movie. Bushy brow, however, wasn't so enlightened, as he furrowed his brows and tilted his head sideways in confusion.

"Who?"

"Not _who_," I clarified, "but _what_. 1983 Stephen King film? Cujo?"

His huge eyebrows remained knitted together as his brain tried in vain to familiarize himself with the movie he'd obviously never even heard of. It wasn't ringing any bells, so I dropped the reference like a bad habit.

"You can leave him here. I'll fold him up and stick him in a bento box if I have any problems out of him."

Lee didn't look convinced. It was starting to irritate me, really. Can't skinny white girls be allowed to know martial arts?

"Out," I tried again, making it simpler for him to understand.

"But-"

"Wasn't a suggestion."

He hesitated a moment, before reluctantly handing me a slip of paper. I accepted it wordlessly, glancing in disinterest at the writting. According to this paper, I was supposed to call this number, which belonged to Lee, of course, "if I had any problems". Pssht. The paper also informed me that Lee would be back to pick Gaara up at seven.

Six hours for a single session?

I returned my gaze to Bushy brows, arching my brow curiously at him. Guess he figured we had a lot of issues to work out.

"Look..." I showed him the paper, pointing at the time for emphasis, "I don't need six hours for a single session with him. An hour or two would be sufficient."

Lee pursed his lips as he squinted at the paper, nodding in understanding.

"Okay. But I had a report to write on Gaara, too, for my chief... And I still have to lock up the-"

"Babysitting charges are extra," I droned, crumbling the paper in my fist and stuffing it into my pocket.

Lee's face flushed with embarrassment, but I wasn't taking the bait. I wouldn't take it if he started sobbing in front of me about his cancer-stricken mother. Working for the heartless Kakashi had taught me a few things, and even his habits had become mine.

"Three," I negotiated.

"Four," He pleaded.

Were those tears standing in his eyes?

"Three fifteen."

"A quarter till?"

I supposed that this was the point where we were suppossed to go back and forth, lowering our times by fifteen minutes each "turn", until we ended up at a negotiated time that neither of us were really satisfied with. Well, Bushy brow had my insincerest apologies, because this was _my _house, and _my _rules. Setting my jaw forward, I pressed apathetically.

"Knock it off. Three fifteen, final answer," I enunciated slowly.

His lips turned into a thin line of disappointment, but I could tell in his eyes that he was resigned. He wasn't a big arguer; all the better for me. Nonetheless, I wasn't satisfied. Even as he nodded his understanding and departed, I fully realized that I had only won the verbal arguement. If Lee didn't want to come back until midnight, then he wasn't coming back untill midnight. There was nothing I could do to force him into doing anything he didn't want to do but hope that he was a man of his word.

I cast a glance out of the window, frowning. It had been groggy, sputtering and sprinkling all morning. But now, it was a total downpour. The sky was dark and overcast, and although it was only an hour past noon, it looked like it was ten at night.

Heaving a sigh, I turned to my new problem at hand, who was glaring at his surroundings, a look of intense disgust etched into his stony face. As if seeing the room for the first time myself, I turned to see what had caught his momentary attention, eyeing something just beyond my left ear with malice.

A stuffed pink rabbit sat perched upon a nest of green plastic basket-grass, surrounded by festive, vibrant ceramic eggs was the source of his "torture". Despite my better judgement, I laughed.

"I like Easter," I explained, a stupid grin inching its way onto my lips.

A guttural sound like a growl bubbled in his throat, and he redirected his glare to my shelf of movies, propped alongside my television. His eyes softened as he tilted his head to the side, silently mouthing the titles he'd begun to browse.

So he was a movie buff. Me too. What do you know, our very first similarity, besides the fact that neither of us really liked people all that well. We just had two very, _very _different methods of coping with that little detail.

_"Entertain,"_ My brain sluggishly encouraged.

Oh, right. Gaara was still a guest here in my home. How was one supposed to entertain?

_"Think, Miyu, think... You've watched plenty of movies."_

"Can I get you something to drink?" I attempted.

Gaara knelt down in from of the movie shelf and began to thumb through the titles curiously, giving me the all-powerful Silent Treatment. Alright, fine then. He could watch whatever he wanted today. We didn't have to get right to "work". First, I had to succeed in where I had always failed with him before now, and get him comfortable with me.

I leaned cautiously over his shoulder, watching as his finger paused at 'Friday the Thirteenth' before moving on. Okay, I could totally see that. He liked the flicks with senseless bloodshed and murder and zero plot whatsoever. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I kept those kinds of movies around for more of a variety... and, of course, to every once in a while, scare myself into nightmares.

"I have the 'Jason' movies," I offered, pointing to the original film.

He growled at me again, and I got the sudden impulse to spit on his dishevled, mop-head hair. Alternatively, I backed off, and headed into the kitchen. With thirteen DUI's under his belt, I'm assuming that he liked to drink alcohol. However, seeing as how I refused even mouthwash, he was S.O.L. in that department. I hoped he had a secret sweet-tooth for chocolate milk, because that was my personal lifeblood.

I liberated the jug of milk from the fridge, and reached for the Nesquik mix. Within moments, I had two tall orders of deliciousness, and was trying in vain to balance a glass of chocolate milk on Gaara's flamming tresses. He jerked his head to glare furiously at me, and I quickly reclaimed the glass from his head.

_"Accept my hospitality," _I silently urged him, his gaze shifting from me to the glasses in my hands.

Sneering at my attempt at humble servitude, Gaara turned over the DVD case in his hands, then tossed it onto the couch.

"Pathetic," He mused aloud, his raspy voice hissing like snakes in my ears.

"What is?" I questioned with genuine curiosity.

"All of _this_."

He waved his hand around the room, his face a mask of disgust.

"The Easter decorations?" I asked defensively, instantly ready to throw down in vindication of my most sacred of holidays.

He shook his head, and stared intently at a random blank spot on the wall.

"You and your boss."

I bristled. my fingers tightening around my hold on the glasses. The man could say whatever he wanted about me, but I'd push his skinny ass off a cliff if he badmouthed Kakashi. Carefully, I placed the glasses on the coffee table in front of my couch.

"Kakashi? He's an accomplished guy. To say he's twice the man you are is still one hell of an insult."

Gaara's eyes narrowed dangerously as he readjusted the target of his glare, baring his canines at me. As it usually happened when I started losing my temper, my thoughts ceased to filter through my brain first, and began to skip that step altogether, pouring out of my mouth in its crudest of form.

"Stop glaring at me, and starting acting like you're _not _a total psycho."

It was like talking to my father. The one thing I quickly learned that both men shared was that they always seemed to bring out the "best" in me.

"Shut up," He spat.

"I've been nothing but kind to you. So why are you such an asshole to me when everyone else so clearly treats you like dirt? Shouldn't you welcome the rare kindness that comes your way?"

I know _I _did. Kakashi was a genuine ass, but he had his moments, sparse as they were. He had pulled his fair share of strings for me, and although his kindness was a rarity and never lasted as long as it took me to thank him, I'd still drop-kick any prime minister off of the Hoover Dam if he ever asked it of me.

"You're just another fool who thinks that they have all the answers," Gaara seethed. "but you don't."

"Hell-o!" I waved my hands frantically in front of his face, rolling my eyes. "Obviously, I'm not delusional that I know everything about everyone. Otherwise, I wouldn't be babysitting you here and now."

"Why don't you people just leave me alone?" He snarled.

"It's my job."

"Your job to do _what_? Piss me off?"

"No, that's just a fortunate byproduct. You're obviously not all there." I tapped my temple with my middle finger for emphasis. "My job is to help you find those missing peices of the puzzle. I was going to let you have a free day today if you had played nice, but now my chocolate milk is going warm because of you. So, class is officially in session. Now, repeat after me... _I am not greater than sliced bread_."

"What?" He spat.

He was trying so very hard to keep up his angry demeanor, but I had caught him completely off guard. If anything, he appeared more mortified than furious.

Nonetheless, his temper was still on fire. But mine had already been doused.

"You heard me, Cujo."

"What the hell?"

"Think about it," I reasoned gleefully. "What do you use bread for? Pizza, pie, sandwiches, toast... I mean, the list is endless. But what do you use Gaara for? That's exactly right. Nothing. Therefore, bread is greater than Gaara."

"You're out of your mind," He murmured, his confusion and horror shining clearly in his voice alone.

"I know," I admitted, simpering. "Now say it- _'I am not greater than bread'._"

Gaara had long since dropped his glare, and was now staring at me with an expression that seemed to be a cross between confusion and revulsion.

The method I was applying was one I had improvised to use against another of my patients I'd formerly had about a year ago. Just like Gaara, he had an egotistical complex, and was sure that the world as we knew it would cease to exist if ever he were to simply fall off of the face of the Earth.

"Admit it. People would be more devestated if bread vanished from the face of the planet than if Gaara did."

This served to knock them off of their comfy pedastool. Explaining this strategy to him, however, would only serve to re-boost his blimp-sized ego again. And if that happened, I fear he'd explode from all the hot air circulating in such a small man. His lips curled back over his teeth again in an ugly snarl, leaning down in an invasion of my personal bubble so that we were an inch from sharing a deliciously awkward eskimo-kiss.

"You can go to hell."

I gazed back at him, a grin spreading across my face.

"Why don't we play a little game, Gaara? Would you like that?"

His hideous snarl deepened into his lips, and I caught the glimmer of hostility, anger at being _mocked_, as if I could ever suade him with a round of Monopoly.

"I'm not talking about Scrabble," I informed him, carefully, slowly rising to my feet. "This game I think you might like."

I reached for my chocolate milk, taking a long, deep swig of it, scowling as I placed it back on the table.

_"Ick... Room temperature."_

"You've got issues, there's no doubt about that. But you're not crazy enough to be holed up in some institution. You can operate just fine in everyday society. I _know _this. I'm not an idiot. I've been at this a while, and it'll take more than loaded siblings and "all-too-willing-to-oblige-to-anything-for-the-right-price" doctors to say you're looney to fool me. You're just spoiled and self-centered, not to mention the _minor _anger issues."

I hoovered my index finger over my thumb for emphasis, dragging out the word "minor". Gaara stared at me, waiting with a stony face for me to continue.

"We both know you're fine aside from that. Violence is a symptom of your self-centeredness, your habit of getting what you want when you want, and your anti-social tendancies."

I paused a moment, before continuing to explain the rules of my new activity.

"Now that you know where I stand, and how I know about you, let's play a game. This game is called, "Let's be friends"."

The snarl returned, and he was practically frothing at the mouth this time. I laughed, waving my hands in the air as if I could dismiss his hostility with a sweep of my hand.

"No, no, really. I know it sounds like something you'd hear off of _Barney_, but you have to take me seriously here. We're going to go back and forth, and either do, or say something nice to one another, until neither of us feel like killing the other anymore."

"No," My red-headed ray of sunshine seethed at me.

"Okay. Then we'll play "Let's be acquaintances"."

"No."

"Uno?"

He scowled at me, his features darkening with fury. But because I never learned my lesson the first time, I continued to press the very buttons I was fully aware would hurt me later down the road. Instead of backing off, I pointed to the series of belts hanging on the wall.

"How about pin the tail on the asshole? I'll make them fit," I promised with a stupid grin.

He balled his hands into fists at his sides, his anger radiating from him in waves now. For a split second, I thought he might take a swing at me, but I quickly braced myself for the impact, ready to flatten him the second he tried. After a moment, however, he seemed to think better of it, and his fingers slowly, almost regretfully, uncurled.

Had I known what would later happen, I would have stopped there, and tried again with the chocolate milk, and been happy with that. But now, I had a hard lesson to learn.

"Hide and seek?" I droned. "C'mon, I'm running out of games that have kept their appeal through the past fifty years."

A moment of silence. Then, silently, I witnessed what I thought at the time to be an impossible miracle, only for me to learn that this would be something that would nearly give me a heart attack from now on. His lips turned upwards into something faint, _mythical_, even, but definitely _there_. It was sadistic, unnatural settled there with his evil painted eyes.

"I wish," He spoke softly.

His voice had a certain upbeat edge to it, almost like he was excited... which was something I never would have thought possible. By the way he spoke, I surmised that he had something else in mind, aside from escaping my horrible wrath. I couldn't help being horrified by his enthusiasm, knowing it couldn't mean any good news for me. It unnerved me how his insane smile failed to waver at all.

Slowly, he rose his hand, and pointed at the DVD case he'd so casually thrown onto the couch.

"I want to watch that."

I leaned forward, flipping the case over onto the front, and grimaced.

_The Ring._

Yeesh.

I wasn't big on horror films, like I mentioned, but that movie made _me_, the biggest movie buff since Anthony DiNozzo, keep my television off for a month.

But this was Gaara's first request of me since I'd met him. I mean, he'd told me to leave him alone, but that was a demand and this... well, this was sort of a demand, too. Kind of. Whatever. If it appeased my leige, and it was within my professional and physical boundaries, then so be it.

I pressed the _open _button on my DVD player, and the disc tray ejected... empty. I frowned and sighed, closing the disc-thing again, rounding on Gaara. I knew that if the DVD wasn't in its case, there was only one other place it could be.

"Movie night it is, then," I murmured. "You wait here."

I turned to the hallway behind me, my bedroom lying just beyond that, to fetch the disc.

I'd ease him into the bread issue later, seeing as how he was unwilling to comply at the moment.

A little voice rang in my head halfway down the hall. It took me a moment to place the voice, but it found its rightful place in a matter of seconds. Kankuro's words echoed in my head, clear as a bell.

_"... he's a resourceful little prick."_

I peered hesitantly over my shoulder, expecting to see him fumbling with the lock on the door, or climbing out the window. Instead, he stood stock still, gazing back intently at me. I turned my head back around, focusing on the task at hand: Operation Retrieve The Ring DVD.

I had two DVD players; one in my living room, and the other in my bedroom. For emergencies. Like when I wanted to lay down comfortably with a pillow, blanket and fluffy mattress while enjoying a movie, for example.

Pushing my door open, I sauntered over to my television, and pressed the eject button. The disc tray popped open... also empty. I grunted my irritibility aloud, knowing that misplacing a DVD wasn't like me at all. I treated my DVDs like most would treat a beloved family pet. My brow furrowed, my bottom lip puckering in confusion.

_"Now what in the-"_

_Thud_.

I jumped instictively, as all the lights in my house simultaneously short-curcited following the thumping noise. My heart immediately began to pound violently against my ribcage, my head whipping around me in vain, looking for some source of light. In fact, my suicidal heart throbbing in my chest, along with the blood already beginnging to pump in my ears, was the only thing I heard.

The power outage could have easily been an accident, caused by the storm brewing outside.

It could just have easily _not _been an accident.

My power box was located just beyond my kitchen, behind a door I never bothered to lock.

Fifteen feet at most from where Gaara had been standing.

Something snapped in my brain, something instinctive, primal. I bolted to my open door, and slammed it shut, locking it from the inside. Slowly, I backed away from it, my fingers already damp with sweat and trembling in terror. I flung myself in the vicinity of where I remembered my nightstand being. If I could just find that...

All fears are irrational. And I'd dealt with every kind of them. Arachnophobia, cynophobia, maniaphobia, you name it. But the thing about fears is, you can't cure them. Some people will insist to "get over" a fear, you need to expose the person to their fear. And that's a load of bull. Exposure leads to hysteria, extreme blubbering and temporary insanity. Clouds the mind. You can't think straight. I would know first hand what it's like to fear something like several patients do.

Because I have achluophobia.

I'm afraid of the dark.

* * *

It's anyone's guess how long I stayed curled up on my bed, legs crossed at the ankles and pressed against myself, my mini flashlight on and beamed at the ceiling and clutched firmly to my breast. Could have been ten minutes. Could have been an hour.

My brain kept screaming at me. It was telling me that I was an idiot. There was nothing in the dark but more darkness. There were no monsters reaching for me, waiting for me to put down my light so they could pounce for a late afternoon snack. But it didn't matter what my brain told me. I was scared, logical or not, and I wasn't crawling off that bed, away from my light, for anything.

And suddenly, another fear gripped me, and it was like ice on my heart.

_What if the batteries died?_

I choked back a scream, whimpering alound as I pressed the flashlight even further into my chest, as if that might make the light last longer.

Tree branches scrapped my window. The wind howled viciously, hissing in at the cracks of my windows. The rain had subsided, but now it was back in full force, pounding relentlessly on my windows.

And then I thought of Gaara.

Somewhere, beyond my door, he lay in wait. Perhaps he was just sitting on my couch impatiently for me to return with that DVD, foraged for candles and matches, having lit them throughout my house.

But there was no chance of that. I would be able to see the flickering light from beneath the crack of my locked door.

Maybe, he had ditched my house, and was wandering around outside.

_In __**that **__storm_? A tiny voice rebuked, and I shot that theory down, too.

Perhaps he was standing just outside my door, having snuck into my kitchen and liberated a serated steak knife, waiting quietly, patiently for me to come out.

I knew he had no way of knowing of my fear. Kakashi didn't even know that I still fell asleep every night with the television on. He wasn't aware that I had at least two night-lights plugged into every room of my house, except my living room, in which there were five.

I tried to calm my ragged breathing, to stabalize my erratic heart.

I was the smarter one between the two of us. _Me_. And the only thing standing between him and me was _a sea of darkness that threatened to swallow me into abyss._

I shook my head, trying to rationalize my thoughts.

Bottom line, I had no idea how long these batteries would last. I had to find another set of the almighty triple A, otherwise face a darkness even more intense than now.

I shuddered, afraid to step foot off my bed, but even more terrified of what would happen when my flashlight kicked the bucket.

Slowly, I edged off the bed, having found my motovation for the moment. I addressed my scattered brain, realizing that I would come face to face with Gaara, whether he was still in the living room or standing right outside me door.

He'd smell my fear like an animal, like he'd seem to have been able to smell every other emotion I'd ever felt around him.

He'd try to take advantage of my weakness. Mock me. Threaten me. Terrify me. Maybe worse.

And if I let him do that, he'd take my light. And then he'd still be there, laughing at me, but only then, I'd be trapped in the dark.

I cringed, and rested my free hand on the doorknob, my thumb on the lock, prepared to twist it, unlock it.

If it came down to kicking the crap out of Gaara, I was up for it. I'd do it to keep my light.

That firmly in mind, I clicked the lock, and swung the door open.

I needed no means of protection. My body was a trained weapon in itself. I could take whatever this man could throw at me.

Two steps into the hallway. Then three. I shone the flashlight forward, scanning the kitchen several feet in the distance before me. Nothing. My shoulders slumped, my gaurd momentarily dropped at my brief relief.

From the bathroom on my right. Breathing. A low chuckle.

My training went out the window, followed shortly by my pride and dignity, and I screamed a blood-curdling scream.

I dropped my flashlight, diving after it the second it left my fingers. I slid against the wall, slamming onto my knees, and caught it before it hit the ground, but by then, it was already too late.

He was on me before the concept of defense even registered in my mind. A flash of red hair in my small beam of light. Bright, angry eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. And a savage grin across his lips.

"Let's play a game," He suggested mockingly, his raspy voice whispering to me as he laughed.

A sob was caught in my throat, preventing me from answering. But I suppose the look of horror plastered on my face was enough for him, because he chuckled once more before rising from his knees. My eyes caught a silvery gleam in his grasp, maybe a knife, or a fork. Little did he know, he never even needed the weapon.

"No more games?" He offered, feigning mock politeness.

Poison dripped from every syllable he spoke. My lips trembled, and he kicked my shin swiftly, demanding a response. He needed that satisfaction. Wanted to hear the tremble in my voice. Since my pride and dignity had escaped out into the storm, I gave that, too, to him without a second thought in the midst of my horror.

"No more games," I agreed, my voice cracking.

With a final smile of satisfaction, he turned, stalking away into the darkness. I was vaguely away of him opening a drawer, replacing whatever utensil he'd withdrawn, leaving me to gasp for air as quickly as it seemed to be stripped from my lungs.

I didn't know it then, but my own personal horror wasn't ending.

It was only just beginning.


	5. Chapter Five

You guys will have to be careful when reading this 'un. There's twice when Miyune is a slacker, and dozes off... I'm not sure if it's quite that difficult to distinguish between her reality and her dream, but the insinuation is definitely there. I thought that I made it pretty clear, but I don't know, it still might be troublesome for others.

* * *

With a small crackle, God opened up the heavens, and light flooded the Earth once more.

Well, more like, Gaara flipped the power box back on, and I could see again.

The second that light started flooding my sight once more, I sighed a breath of relief. My dignity and my confidence swelled back up within me, because when saw him, I had the distinct urge to deck him in the face. When the normal restraint I had failed to surface, I rose to my feet, and sauntered over to Gaara, who was leaning against the stove, a smug grin across his face. I had the sudden morbid wish that the stove would spontaneously ignite itself, and he would catch on fire, where I could watch him run, scream, and stop, drop and roll across my kitchen floor. My legs were like walking on Jell-o, but I stabilized them the best I could, before proceeding.

He thought he had scared me. Not with the darkness, but with his shiny knife, or spoon, or whatever it was that had been in his grasp.

I pointed my finger in his face, leaning forward as intimidatingly furious of a face as I could muster. "Don't pull that crap again, do you hear me?" To my dismay, he wasn't flustered in the least bit. Which, I guess given my petite frame and short stature, wasn't a big surprise.

But he hadn't realized how much like Hell I could really make his life.

A satisfied smirk crossed my lips, causing his confident grin to flicker.

No matter. He was about to find out.

* * *

"You're a bastard, Kakashi."

He lifted his head, eyeing me peculiarly, as if I'd grown a third head.

True to his word, Bushy brow returned at three o'eight to pick up our bundle of joy. After their departure, I clothed myself into an attire more fitting for public scrutiny (which was still not much of an improvement for most), and headed to the office to give my boss the lecture he knew he deserved.

"Hmm?" He groaned, uninterested as he realized who it was that was addressing him.

Kakashi would have given the evil eye to anyone else calling him crude names, but coming from me, it was second nature by now. I can't say he was any more used to hearing any of it come from me than from anyone else, but that didn't stop me from not caring.

"I said you're a bastard."

"I heard you the first time."

Still averting direct eye contact, he licked his index finger, and began to thumb through the papers on his desk.

"Then act like you're listening to me when I'm trying to insult you."

Sighing, he slowly rose his chin to meet my gaze, resting his head in the palm of his hand.

"We're overworked and overstressed here, Miyune. I needed you to take Gaara. We get closer and closer to government inspection every day. Or, haven't you noticed how down-to-the-wire we're getting?"

I cast a listless glance over my shoulder. Sakura moaned in dismay, literally sprinting across my view with a stack of papers nearly as tall as she was before disappearing out of sight. Kiba howled ferociously at the desktop he was currently standing beside, slamming the monitor angrily with a hula girl bobble head. I turned back to Kakashi, frowning in resentment.

"Nope. Hadn't noticed."

He groaned, before motioning for me to shut the door behind me. I obeyed, and prepared myself for the rant I knew he was about to launch himself into.

"In a month's time, we have inspection. You know how meticulous they can get."

"Uh huh."

I shifted my messenger bag off of my shoulder, letting it slide down onto the floor with a dull thud.

"And to be honest, I need you to work on Gaara. Nothing else. _At all_. We can't have any serious cases when they come here. No outrageous patients. No problematic people. We have to appear that we are in _total _control, of both our employees and of the patients, even if we really aren't. You wanted him so bad, now focus. Do what you do best, and doctor him."

"You should have told me you were sending him and his parole officer to pay me a visit on my day off," I snapped, a little more intensely than I'd intended.

I knew the severity of my voice had been extreme when I saw his eyes widen in shock. Me, who rarely lost her cool out of anger, had _shouted _at my boss. We'd argued before, but I'd rarely risen my voice at him out of frustration, and so easily provoked at that.

_"Well, damn it."_

I knew from the suspicious look that crept into his eyes that I had some explaining to do now.

"What happened?"

His voice was soft, his question asked tenderly. He was using his psychologist voice on me now, like I was one of his own patients to love and to care for.

"He wanted to play hide and seek."

Kakashi's brow creased in confusion.

"Hide... and seek?"

"Gaara hit the switch on my power box this afternoon," I explained. "I went around fumbling in the dark, and he scared me."

"He '_scared_' you?"

His voice rose above its careful whisper. Eyes narrowing, he glowered suspiciously at me.

There was no way I was going to tell him about my phobia. Nor would I ever tell him about the glinting object that had been in Gaara's hand when he'd "scared" me. If I did, Kakashi would feed him to his dogs just as he had promised, and I wasn't ready to forfeit my hold on Gaara just yet. I still felt I could do some good with him. And Kakashi wouldn't take him away from me simply because he'd screwed around with my electricity.

So I did the unthinkable, and lied to my boss.

"I bumped into him. Startled him. He grabbed me out of shock, and I was forced to take him down to Chinatown."

"You _assaulted _him?"

The skepticism rose in his tone, knowing full well that I would never, ever lay a hand on a patient. Not even a patient who'd flipped off my power, and came at me with a weapon.

"Nah. _Restrained _him would be a better word for it. He flipped off my power. I knew he was trying to give me a hard time, so I had to find him before he found me. I took him down like I watched in 'Cops', handcuffed him, and read him his rights."

Kakashi heaved another sigh, and I chuckled, trying to shake off the terror that still gripped me even now.

"Alright, you got me," I corrected myself randomly. "I don't have handcuffs. And I don't watch 'Cops'. Boring stuff. Too boring, even for me. Have you ever watched 'Cops', Kakashi? I sure hope not. Don't think I could talk to you anymore if you have."

I bit my lip regretfully as Kakashi stared intently at me.

I rambled when I was upset, and tried to hide it without thinking. An unfortunate habit of mine. Kakashi knew this.

Had he noticed my rambling? Was he on to me?

"So tell me what you really did," He droned, dropping his eyes back down to his files.

"I didn't pin him down. We just bumped into one another, and he grabbed me in his surprise. I told him to let me go, and stop being a retard before I kicked his ass, although you and I both know I never would have, and although I imagined he glared at me, he let go. Then I turned the power back on beyond my kitchen."

I hesitated, waiting for Kakashi to comment on my story. Which, as I knew he would, he spoke against potential flaws in my story.

"Why'd you let him out of your sight?"

"I went into my bedroom to get a DVD."

"If he let you go so easily, then why'd he bother turning the electricity off in the first place?"

"To teach me a lesson, most likely. You know, to scare me."

"And did he succeed?"

I knew that I'd been flustered when I'd left my house. I knew that I was still upset even now. Surely Kakashi could see that. To not tell the truth about whether or not I was scared by the incident would be too obvious of a lie.

"Yeah. I was unnerved."

He continued analyzing me with black, beady eyes.

"And he could tell that you were... unnerved?"

"Well, considering I screamed when we bumped into one another, I'm sure that alone gave him a nice, healthy dosage of self-satisfaction."

His lips parted slightly, regarding me curiously.

"And if he ever hurt you... would you tell me?"

I gave myself a split second to curse myself for my ignorance and stupidity, before I lied yet again.

"Of course."

His intense stare lingered on me a moment longer, before he nodded slowly.

"I'll let it slide that you neglected to inform me of Gaara's visitation," I muttered bitterly, recalling the initial reason I'd come by here. "and I'll even take him on again tomorrow." I consented, knowing full well I'd kick myself for it later. "However, Sunday is _mine_, Kakashi. Just as it always has been. And until the government swings by, I'll meet with him six days a week."

"Just come in on Saturdays after he leaves to brief me," Kakashi orders, dropping his gaze back to his papers. He licked his index finger again, and peeled back three pages. "but I expect you to come to me if you have any problems."

His gaze flickered up to me, meeting my eyes with rock-solid conviction.

"The _first _time he tries to harm you... or even threatens... it'll be the _last_."

Something stirred in my chest. It was like moths were fluttering around excitedly inside my ribcage, and it reminded me of the "fuzzy" feeling my mother always used to give me, caressing my hair gently, murmuring sweet nothings that were always something to me.

His gaze returned to his files, and he waved me off with a curt, "Now get _lost_, you whiner."

I grinned, the feeling having passed, much to my satisfaction. This was why I hated Kakashi. He was an ass. And yet... He was the closest I'd ever had to a friend.

* * *

Licking my lips, leaning against my bedroom door. My tongue settled on something wet at the corner of my mouth.

_Blood_, I realized dully, the sting of the coppery taste hitting my taste buds.

I reached up, looking down at my hand as it came away from my mouth. Small splotches of red stained my fingers. Suddenly, the blood began to shift on my fingers, growing, changing. Soon, the red spread across my entire hand, crawling up my wrist.

Someone moaned in front of me. I jumped, having been alone in this room only a few seconds before.

Flaming hair, red as the blood that continued to trickle down my arm. Light, unnaturally teal eyes rimmed with black.

Gaara.

He looked almost longingly at me, eyes shifting from my hand to my face, as if unsure which to devote his attention to.

He took a step towards me, watching me hesitantly, as if afraid I make make a run for it the second he moved.

This wasn't the Gaara I was used to, I noticed. Cautious, concerned about how I might react. Wanting me to stay where I was, wanting to be near to me.

When I watched him as intently as he was watching me, he smiled softly at me. The gesture wasn't as gruesome as I'd always been exposed to before now, but it appeared awkward there on his face, as if he was never meant to smile kindly.

He swept across the room before my thoughts had time to clear, quickly closing the distance between us with inhuman speed and grace.

His hands rested on my elbow, where the blood began to flow over his awaiting fingers, through them. He sighed contentedly, before running his hands to the small of my back, wrapping me completely in his embrace.

I held my breath, feeling my face flushing a deep shade of red. I'd never had a male take the least bit of interest in me before. I'd never given the least bit of thought to having a spouse, that one day, I would be married, with children of my own. I had just always assumed that I was destined to be alone my whole life, never getting myself involved in a serious, intimate relationship, and never caring.

But here this man was, his arms wrapped around me, leaning his face into my shoulder. He turned his head slowly, sighing into my neck. I stiffened, hating this kind of contact, but unable to prevent it. I wanted to push him off of me. To pin him down on the ground and stomp his liver up through his throat.

But I couldn't move. I was immobile, unable to stop him from pulling me forward, pressed firmly against his body as his embrace tightened.

Suddenly, his lips parted, and I felt them on my vein. His tongue flicked across my flesh, and I shivered involuntarily, opening my mouth in a silent, terrified scream. My eyes flickered down to my hand, where the blood had begun to flow.

But it wasn't there anymore.

My hands, as well as mouth, felt completely dried again. Instead, it was my neck that felt damp, and I strained to glance down at my chest, unable to move my head.

_Blood_.

Before I processed the weirdness of the sight, I groaned aloud in agony.

A sharp pain peirced into the skin of my neck, and the flow of blood down my arms ceased, beginning to pulsate from another area.

I listened to, felt him lap the juices up eagerly from my skin. Ran his tongue over the two identical holes in my pale flesh. Latched his lips around the wounds, and began to draw my life into him.

My knees buckled, and slumped against him weakly. I expected to hit the floor, but his arms tightened around me, holding me against him despite my weight.

Black holes burst through my vision, growing, consuming, like a fire set in the middle of a photograph.

And then my vision gave out completely, only my hearing still working properly, dying, listening to his urgent lapping.

And just as quickly as the nightmare had come, it left.

My eyes sprang open, my mouth agape in a silent scream.

I stared with wild eyes at the television.

Dracula.

Lucy moaned aloud, pleading her lover to come closer to her. He foolishly obeyed, and the lost soul lashed out at her would-be fiance with a barbaric cry and an uncontrollable lust for blood.

Rolling my eyes, I allowed myself to relax, my shoulders slumping.

I really, really needed to lay off the horror movies.

Reaching for the remote, I remained true to my vow (for now), and turned the channel to some random infomercial, before pressing the mute button. I barely remember placing the remote on my nightstand before sleep flattened, rolled me up, and tossed me back to the unforgiving Sand man.

* * *

Morning came sooner than I would have liked. Groggily, I sat up, regarding the morning talkshow that was airing on mute with detached interest. His sharp face, pitch black eyes, and pale skin made the wheels in my head turn. I had seen this man somewhere before, but I couldn't pinpoint the exact location of where at. I squinted, intently watching the raven-haired man's mouth move for a moment, before hitting the mute button, letting the sound flow. He was silent a moment, shifting in his chair, raising his hand to his chin. He was calm and collected, like he was used to the limelight, but could care less whether or not it was zeroed on him.

"Brazil is not a threat. Even if they ally themselves with Italy like they assure us they will, we will crush them. Easily."

His velvety smooth voice clicked instantly in my mind, finding its place in my head.

This was the president of a chain of government facilities, Iwakaga, Hiwakurga, Iwishag- something along those lines, Sasuke Uchiha. As a weapons manufacturer, I guess it's an understatement to say that his company was a powerful force, even on an international scale.

According to some tabloids I'd read on him, his entire family had been slaughtered by an older brother while he was a mere six or seven, only to have the older brother escape prosecution. No one has heard anything on the older brother since his mass homicides. Apparently, this trauma was what drew Sasuke so passionately in the direction of warfare, and violence.

But I'm not sure I believe them. After all, there were some crazy rumors floating around these days.

Having lost my interest in the talk show, I switched the television off, jerked my curtains wide open, and let the light pour inside in generous portions.

I yawned, arching my back as I stretched my arms high above me. Listening to my back pop in response, I dropped my arms, swinging them in wide circles at my sides, opening my bedroom door.

Swearing aloud to the son of a female dog, I glared at the mess still on my dinning room table. After the incident with Gaara, I'd completely abandoned any previous endeavors, including finishing up my Easter eggs.

"Oh, that's right," I recalled bitterly. "Sunshine comes back again today."

Grumbling under my breath, I plopped grumpily into my chair, crossing my legs Indian-style in my seat. I dipped a brush into the room temperature water, flipped open my watercolors, and finished my favorite annual holiday project.

* * *

I felt like something of a secretary who was afraid that she may be imposing two hours until Gaara was supposed to show up at one p.m. today. Luckily for me, the day had cleared up considerably from yesterday, so if the electricity "mysteriously" shut off again, it wouldn't matter a bit... unless he had mad ninja skills, and sent me to go look for a DVD again, boarded up every single window and _then _shut off the power before I returned. But somehow, I doubted even that little weasel was _that _ninja-like.

A quick call to Kakashi gave me all the ammo I would need to set my Gaara plan into motion. I didn't want to be harsh, but he was about to learn that if it was hardball he wanted to play, then it was hardball we were going to play.

"Hello?"

I cringed, having hoped I'd never have to hear that flat-toned, beautifully sophisticated voice ever again.

"Yeah, hi."

Flinching, I scoffed. The only people I called were people that knew me... so I groaned aloud into the reciever at my instinctive blunder, and vaguely heard her sigh into the phone.

"Miyune?"

"How'd you know?" I questioned, genuinely curious, holding the receiver to my mouth and the earpiece at eye level, staring at my cell phone in awe.

"No one else so awkward would ever call me,"She cooed softly, stifling a giggle.

Gee, _thanks_.

"Didn't think anyone awkward would call you," I replied honestly.

I curled up on my couch, twisting so that my head was hanging off of the side of the cushion. Grinning to myself, I was simply pleased that Temari hadn't started swearing and cursing at me the second she realized who it was that she was speaking to. That was definitely a huge plus.

Nonetheless, how should I start this conversation? Upon filing a complaint to the district court, I had dismissed the matter of suing the Hisunas from my mind entirely. I wasn't sure if the court had already gone through with pressing charges against the family and their small army of doctors, but I doubted Temari would have such an open tone with me had they followed through yet.

"So, what can I do for you?" I heard her voice inquire suspiciously.

_Suspicious_, but not hostile.

Guess they hadn't been sued yet.

_Awesome_.

"I was wondering if you and Kankuro could swing by my home today at about... noon?"

"What for?" Temari blurted, incredulous.

I couldn't help but grin, picturing her staring in shock and horror at her phone, appalled by the suggestion.

"I've started to work on piecing Gaara back together, and wanted you to come see that my initial diagnosis of him was right."

" '_Piecing_'?" She murmured skeptically.

I chuckled into the reciever, nodding triumphantly.

"Yeah. Besides. Gaara doesn't seem to be all that tight with either of you. I was hoping that I could learn about that by observing the three of you. Together. That going to be an issue?"

"Well-"

"I think it would really help Gaara get on the right track. I hate to honk my own horn, here, but... if I can't do this, _no one_ can. Plain and simple. I want to see you guys together. _Happy_. I'm not in this line of work for a paycheck, I assure you."

And that wasn't a lie.

I could practically see the woman, chewing skeptically, yet _hopefully_, on her paint-stained lips. From what I'd gathered, which wasn't much other than they were both defensive of themselves and one another, was that Temari was a family-orientated woman. I had learned that from the evening I had spent meeting her at the Olive Garden. She longed to see her family together, happy, singing songs and dancing without any music playing.

She lived in that fantasy. Thrived there, in that dreamland.

And so, I had to play _those _cards against her.

I don't think I could have laid it on much thicker if I'd have told her I was Mother Theresa incarnate.

Unfortunately, the promise of uniting her family wasn't deceiving enough, and I began to learn just what a clever broad she was.

"If only things were that easy," She moaned dryly. "Don't you think we haven't tried counselors before? No one can help Gaara. He's beyond _anyone's _help. And he was better off left in that hospital. You have no _idea _what you're getting yourself into."

Her voice wavered, cracking in awkward places, as if she were on the verge of tears. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said she sounded... _scared_. For _me_.

"Oh, I think I do. But even so, just let me try. Be here at noon, with Kankuro, and we can work things out. I promise. What's the worst that can happen?"

Awkward silence. I began to fidget with my cuticles, chipping away at the unevenness of the nails.

"Alright," She slowly agreed after what seemed like ten minutes awaiting her response.

"Don't be late," I piped, chipper, before pressing the end button.

I hadn't wanted to talk to Kankuro, which was why I just got her number from Kakashi and relayed to Temari to round up her hot-headed brother. Assuming they showed up, I still had one more person to call in order for my plan to fall together. I copied the number from the paper, dialing it accordingly on my cell phone.

"Yes! This is Lee speaking!"

"Yeah, uh, Bush- Umm, Lee? You busy today? Got any reports to write or rounds to make?"

"Well, I have to finish my report and turn it in to my chief-"

"Can you do that before you drop Gaara off this afternoon?"

"I am not sure that I can do-"

"Consider it a dare," I challenged him, my voice escalating rapidly with each syllable I spoke. "No, I _double dog _dare you to finish that damn report by noon!"

An uneasy silence filled the receiver. I began to wonder if I'd gone to far with him, miscalculated on my guess that he was an energetic, highly devoted person.

He had been willing to take Gaara in under his wing, despite all that he knew about the man's supposed "violent" tendencies. He'd returned a few minutes early to retrieve Gaara yesterday, even though he didn't want to. He was a man of his word; devoted to his promises. Energetic, because he had that wild, barely contained spark of life in his eyes. The same one you just don't see in many people anymore. The one you won't see in mine.

Just as I'd begun to think I'd been pushing it too far as to challenge him so blatantly, the youth pent up in that one man exploded in my ear.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! It will be done! I _accept _your challenge, Miyune!"

He practically screamed the words in my ear, but I didn't care. I laughed, amused and appreciative.

"Great. I'll owe you."

I snapped my phone shut, and went about my new task of arranging my freshly colored Easter eggs in pretty arrangements in which I liked. If Gaara thought the decorations were hell yesterday, then I couldn't wait to see what he thought of my home today.

* * *

Today would not be a repeat of yesterday's humiliation. Today, I had switched the batteries out with fresh ones (just in case, for you can never be too careful). Today, I was ready for _war_.

In my mind's eye, Gaara and Kankuro flanked my left and right. They had called a temporary alliance in order to annihilate _me_.

Temari stood on the sidelines, sobbing for peace and waving her hands hysterically in her madness. Lee was clad in black and white pinstripes, a whistle hanging around his neck, refereeing the bloodbath to come. His hand sliced the air, and with a bestial roar, Kankuro flung himself at me, fists brandished.

I leaped aside, catching his fist with my left hand, raising my foot to counter with a kick to the abdomen. But he anticipated this. Grasping my ankle, he swung me against my wall. Bracing myself, I caught myself against the wall, poised on the tips of my fingers like Spider-man. I scaled the ceiling, dropping down on Kankuro, sweeping my leg out to catch his vulnerable temple. One swift kick, and he was down for the count.

With a scowl, Gaara's hair flashed a pale blond, his attire flickering to red and white jacket. I had a brief second to ponder why he looked like that sadistic Knives character from some 'Trigun' show I'd glanced over once or twice, before he jerked a very shiny, very _loaded _gun out from the holster that appeared at his hip. Firing, I lunged beneath my kitchen table, immediately flipping it over to serve as a makeshift shield. The bullets tore at my table, and I knew it would only be a few more moments before his gun turned my table into mulch.

I jumped, hearing an explosion much louder than the sound of the gun. I was taking a leap of faith, peering over the table, but I did so anyway. My brow furrowed, seeing Gaara's unusually pale blond hair stained red with his blood. He coughed, spilling the liquid over his lips and onto his formerly clean, iron-pressed jacket. Another sound fired off like a laser, and my jaw fell open as Lee morphed like Gaara had. His hair grew at a rapid rate, his bowl-cut quickly shifting into a spiky, gravity-defying mess. His biceps, triceps, and every other -cep on his body bulged prominently, and his thick eyebrows melted away into the air. The heels of his palms were pressed together firmly, and a bright golden light was flickering where his hands were joined. He screamed something unintelligible about "Kamehameha" and "Die Freeza", before the blast shot from his hands like a cannon.

Biting my lip, I cringed at the new man.

"_Goku_?" I considered, vaguely recognizing the fictional character.

* * *

My eyes sprang open as someone knocked on the door. I assessed my surroundings quickly, sitting up bolt-right.

Somehow, I'd fallen asleep on the couch, watching 'Dragonball Z' re-runs while waiting for my "guests". Not very professional of me, but I still got the job done... well, I'd always gotten the job done until I met _Gaara_, that is.

And as I lazily rose to my feet, my finger hitting the television's power button on the way up, I realized just how much I was starting to really hate that name.

Another impatient knock. A perturbed groan from the opposite side of the door, as a male's deep voice grumbled something irritably.

"_Kankuro_," I noted gleefully, happy that Temari could get the man to come with her.

I swung my door open wide for them, slapping the happiest grin I could manage onto my face for the pair. Kankuro rose a questioning eyebrow at me, and I think I saw Temari shiver. Either she was cold, or I just wasn't meant to smile. I cast a quick glance at my thermostat on the wall next to the doorframe. It read seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit. I sighed, wiping the smile that was apparently not-so-charming from my face. With a sweep of my hand, I stepped aside and granted them access to my humble abode.

"Come on in," I mumbled, my eyes dropping down to their shoes.

I blinked, suddenly mesmerized by Kankuro's shoes. Sleek and shiny, the leather reflected the sun magnificently. I mean, these suckers were spit-shined to perfection. The outsoles looked like polyurethane, and I cocked my head to the side, trying to get a better look at him.

Lifting his head higher while obvious trying to suppress the urge to kick me in the nose, he cleared his throat. My eyelids fluttered, and my face flushed with embarrassment.

"_Great_," I groaned mentally as I slipped inside, listening to them follow me before shutting the door behind them. _"Now they're going to think I have some type of foot fetish."_

My thoughts randomly blurred to that Adam Sandler movie, and that Emilio butler character. I chuckled, instantly feeling better about myself.

"You guys like chocolate milk?" I offered.

Their heads turned in my direction simultaneously, both arching a brow at me at the same moment. I felt my blood rush to my face again, as my self-confidence fell through the floor.

"I- I mean... uh... "

_Milk? Water?_ I didn't drink anything other than that! What if neither beverage was sophisticated enough for their rich, pampered asses?

Kankuro waved his hand through the air, before unleashing his evil eye on me.

"Let's just skip the formalities here," He suggested coldly. "What kind of bullcrap are you wasting our valuable time with now?"

"Kankuro..." Temari began to reprimand him.

I sighed, and all hopes I'd had of a civilized reunion went out the window. Only this time, I couldn't run away when I felt like I was on the verge of having a heart attack. Well, _technically_, I _could_, but it would be kind of odd for me to flee from the duo... and out the door of _my _house.

"Alright, we can just cut to the chase," I droned. "We got off on the wrong foot at that restaurant, and for that, I apologize. But you have to keep an open mind here. Having said that, as much as you'd like to think he is, your brother is not mentally unstable. Let's just get that out of the way now, and we'll go from there."

"Gaara's a psycho," Kankuro spat icily.

I groaned, flailing my right hand around madly.

"That's not what I told you to say."

"It's true!"

"It is not."

Kankuro puffed out his chest in an attempt to look as intimidating as possible. He stiffened his broad shoulders, his wide nostrils flaring. I spoke up before he attacked, because I really would have hated to flatten him on his ass.

"I told you before," I spoke slowly, clear and concise. "Gaara's condition isn't as bad as the two of you seem to think. He's a histrionic-narcissist, which essentially means that he thinks he's all that and a bag of chips. Now, all human beings typically go through phases of narcissism. Only, those with histrionic-narcissism feel self-centered _all _the time. Most narcissistic people are females, and are very theatrical, dramatic, often times very sensual and seductive as well... But that obviously doesn't describe your brother."

"_Obviously_," Kankuro agreed dryly, but the malicious glint in his eyes had vanished. He was attentive, and had taken a seat on the couch, where Temari had also sat down. I felt grateful to her; she had come in and patiently waited for me to speak before lashing out, unlike her close-minded brother.

"Well, there's categories of narcissism within those categories of narcissism. Gaara is the "Compensatory-Fantasy Making-Rager". In so many words, that means that he lashes out as a result of a short temper, and creates his own... _fantasy world_ in an attempt to escape the reality of his life. Because he thrives in this fantasy environment, he prefers to be alone, and doesn't do very well in reality. In Gaara's case, it seems to me that he's spent so much time in this alternate universe of his, that he has no desire to be dragged out of it. He hates being bothered for... much of anything, really. Hence his anti-social, violent tendencies. That's his way of shutting others out, and making sure that they _stay _out. He wants nothing to do with reality any longer. My beef with this is, that in order to create such fantasy worlds to immerse oneself in... there has to be a reason he wouldn't want to stay in _this _one."

I placed my hands on my hips, leaning forward deliberately as I continued.

"_Pain. Suffering. Abuse. Neglect. Torture_. Tell me which one Gaara has been put through, and I can find out why he wants out of this world so bad. I can tear down the walls of his dream world, and put him back on his feet in this one. But I need you two to give me somewhere to start."

I expected them to explode on me again, like at the restaurant. I expected them to jump to their feet and try to slap-fight me. Instead, they glanced warily at one another. My heart pounded against my ribcage, excited.

"Which is it?" I demanded enthusiastically. "Was he beaten in his youth? Sexually abused? Traumatized?"

The truth was so close, I could very nearly taste it on my tongue. And yet, even as their eyes turned back to meet mine, they remained stock silent.

"What happened to him?" I practically screamed at them.

I wasn't angry. I was _exhilarated_. Call me crazy, but I lived for moments like this. The moments in which I made a revelation, or found a truth I'd been searching long and hard for, to put a patient's life back on track. It was a make-or-break situation, but I'd had yet to "Game Over" with any patient of mine. And I'd never had as much trouble as I'd had with Gaara.

She turned to Kankuro for support, her eyes glassy and confused. That confusion in her eyes threw me off of my game momentarily.

"Our mother died giving birth to Gaara," Kankuro finally blurted, tossing his caution down the drain. "Dad blamed him for that, I guess."

With a curt shrug, he fell silent. My hands shook impatiently, and I turned to Temari to finish the story for me.

"Your father abused Gaara, didn't he?"

"Not physically," Temari quickly corrected me harshly, as if offended by the idea. "He just... ignored Gaara. I admit, it was never the greatest way to bring him up, and Kankuro and I are by no means without fault, but it _grew _on Gaara."

"What grew on him?"

"The isolation. It was like Gaara was never even there. No one paid him attention. We had an uncle, and that was when we realized how introverted Gaara was becoming. He insulted Gaara once, and that was all it took... He threw himself at Yashamaru with a _fork_. Gave our uncle a nasty laceration. Gaara was only six at the time."

"And it never occured to you that perhaps, just _maybe_, you should break that cycle?" I questioned them both bitterly, my gaze shifting between them.

Kankuro sneered, rolling his eyes. Temari brooded silently to herself for a moment, before I pried from another angle.

"Did Gaara have imaginary friends?"

"Don't all brats?" Kankuro replied dryly.

"Does he still have them?"

The siblings looked at me as if I'd grown another head from my forehead. I seemed to get that alot.

"I'm serious. Several people who invent their own worlds as a means of escape also create their own friends, if they have none. To inhabit their new realms, I guess you could say."

They took turns exchanging curious looks, fumbling for words. I rolled my eyes, groaning at their obvious detachment from their younger brother. Due to my lack of success with the first two, I launched approach number three.

"I imagine that it was hard for him when he started school, then. Being isolated for his entire life up until then, only to be thrown into such an environment."

"Yeah," Temari agreed, suddenly bright-eyed and attentive. "He got into a lot of fights at school. Our father had to throw his weight around all the time just to keep Gaara from getting expelled, or sent to juvenile detention."

"And your father's sway is...?"

"He's the Prime Minister of Japan," Kankuro explained slowly, eyeing me suspiciously.

My jaw dropped and my feet suddenly went ice-cold.

_"The Prime freaking Minister?"_

"...Oh."

"Yeah," The brunette laughed, loosening up for the first time since I'd met the man.

"S-so..." I continued haphazardly, asking myself how I could miss that particular detail.

I allowed a moment to compose myself, before I pointed out the biggest flaw in their story.

"So tell me what the real reason why your whole family decided to up and neglect Gaara."

"We just-"

"I've seen families go through worse than what you've described to me, and kids come out way better than the condition that Gaara's in. There's something you're not telling me."

"There's nothing-" Kankuro started to argue, but I angrily waved him away.

"Yes, there is," I pressed. "My mother's dead, too. I'm sure my dad hates that I look a lot like her, 'cause I do. Sorta. And he ignores me on a regular basis. We don't talk much. I haven't heard from the rest of my family since my high school graduation, and it's been longer than that for a lot of them. But you don't see me assaulting anybody."

I paused, waiting for them to resume. After a moment's hesitation, Kankuro rose to his feet, briskly heading for the door.

"I think it's time we left."

Temari nodded, casting me a final apologetic glance before she joined her brother. Sighing, I slouched back in my chair. That was about useless... but I did get further with them than I'd originally thought. Now, all that was left for me to do was sit and wait for plan B to arrive- Lee and Gaara.

I figured I wasn't going to get much out of them, but it was well worth the time wasted... er, I meant, _invested_. Right.

"Miyu, you are just too damn smooth," I told myself sarcastically, stifling a giggle as it bubbled from my throat.


	6. Chapter Six

I finished both of my current chapters just in time for you guys! Just in time for what, you ask? For my birthday, 'course. That's right- Today is Blight's birthday, and it's time for the reverse present, in which I give to you instead of taking _from _you. Hoorah. Enjoy.

* * *

"My A plan was shot down by your loving, _concerned _siblings just..." My gaze flitted to the clock on my stereo, in which I had finally bothered to set correctly, "... twenty minutes ago, so, plan B-"

"Temari and Kankuro were here?" Gaara hissed in a suggestively horrified tone.

His eyes narrowed, flickering around the room as if in search of evidence to my claim. I could just see the anger simmering just below the surface of his skin. He curled his hands into tight fists that caused his nails to bite into his flesh as he appeared ready to dry-heave.

"I'd asked them to stay, yes," I admitted softly, as not to upset his delicate temper.

In response to my confession, he bared his teeth at me, his gaze settling on me with a misplaced sense of revenge burned into his retinas. His intense glare blatantly declared his hatred for me and what I'd done, and what I would continue to do.

_"I'll bring up the hordes of Hell on you, you intolerant pain in the ass."_

If only he realized how mutual the thought was for the both of us... and how many times I'd thought the same exact thing about _him_.

But I _would _win this. Oh yes.

"I wanted to observe your interactions with your siblings," I explained carefully. "To see how you act with them around, and how they act in response to your presence."

I gave him a moment to digest my reasoning, before pressing the matter further.

"Anyway, the second I told them my diagnosis for you, they had no desire to help me in my quest for giving you a minimal grasp on sanity and made a beeline for their cars. Which were both very nice, I might add. I originally saw Kankuro as a Hummer kind of guy, but a Bugatti Veyron is a step above nice, too."

Gaara seethed silently to himself, while Lee decided to voice the information he'd been brimming with since he'd arrived. He'd practically hopped from foot to foot since he'd walked through my door, about to explode with his confession.

"I finished my report at eleven forty-five!" He blurted triumphantly.

"I know. Thanks."

His excitement simmered down ever so slightly, and he aloud himself to question my motives.

"But... why did you want it finished so soon? It wasn't even due until the end of my shift tomorrow."

"Because I had to speak to the two of them privately first. And yet, I knew the chances that the concerned siblings would stick around long enough for Gaara to arrive were slim to none."

"But what does any of that have to do with me?"

"Because _you're _plan B, Lee."

I simpered childishly to myself, partly due to the rhyme I'd made, and partly because I realized that I hadn't impulsively referred to him as "Bushy brows".

"Plan... B?" He inquired softly.

"Si, senor."

Gaara's lips twitched, frowning as he studied me warily, as if to ask, "what are you planning?"

I didn't keep either man in suspense for long.

"I'm going to give Gaara a _friend_."

Lee's massive eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The red head's confusion wasn't nearly as modest, and he roared his protest the moment the words left my mouth.

"What, _you_?" He spat, with an insulting expression that suggested he'd just swallowed a bar of soap.

I frowned, once again underestimating his ability to be unnecessarily cold. His objection of being so appalled because he had thought that I had been referring to _myself _insulted me. Then, almost as suddenly, I felt laughter explode from my chest at the idea. Gaara and me? _Friends_? Ha!

"No, no," I managed chuckle through my hysterics. "You and _Lee _will be friends."

Bushy brows gawked at me, horrified, and unable to restrain his terror any longer.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Gaara bristled, apparently no more pleased with this idea than when he'd thought he'd have to put up with me as his B-F-F. Lee, on the other hand, was panic-stricken. I guess their time together hadn't been the stuff Cinderella tales were made out of, and I wondered how many nights Lee had stayed up past midnight, armed with all his police gear to keep his sadist roomie at bay.

"Don't worry," I finally reassured them. "The only price of your 'friendship' is having to log your interactions with one another. Lee, you're the Mother Theresa incarnate to have taken Gaara in, and kept him in, so selflessly of your own free will. But you and I both know that you'd be lying if you tried to tell me that he never takes that hospitality for granted, and that you've never had a problem with him. And you're a saint to have put up with him fro this long. But now, in order to do my job, I need you to keep a record of everything he does, and of everything he does when it concerns others. After that, I promise, I'll have Gaara put up in a place of his own."

Both men's eyes seemed to grow alight at my vow, and I began to wonder just how bad the situation had gotten between them. I knew from experience that Gaara was a handful, but to put up with him every single day had to fry Lee's poor nerves. Alternatively, I also know that Gaara desired complete solitude, that which having a roomie failed to produce, and was a contributing factor as to why he behaved so intolerantly. If I could separate Gaara from everyone he didn't want to be around (except me, of course) and give him most of the isolation he wanted to badly, he'd go as far as putting the fear of God into his own siblings, and having them break the law for him, then perhaps I would be a step closer to getting inside of his head.

"Ill work on you, Gaara, some place of your own. Alone," I quickly added as I watched his eyebrows raise in his wordless question. "I'll work with Kakashi on getting you a stable job, too. Financial help, to get you on your feet. A safe, methodical life to call your own. There's just one catch."

"I'll still have to see you," He murmured bitterly, as if everything else I'd said paled in comparison to that lonely truth.

I nodded, pleased with his hasty deduction.

"You'll still have to meet with me. But only periodically. Three times a week, for an hour or two, tops. But other than that, you'll pretty much have free reign over your own life. Just as much as anyone else, anyway. Of course, you'll still be limited by the confines of the law, and Lee will still be your parole officer. For a while, leaving the city won't be an option, and neither will driving, taking into consideration your multiple past DUI's."

I watched the anger melt from his expression as he began to entertain the idea.

"What's the point of logging interactions?" Gaara finally mused aloud.

"Yes!" Lee declared, as if the logic of the red head's inquiry had just taken him by storm. "What is the point of that?"

"There's no doubt that Gaara has serious social issues," I unnecessarily reminded them. "Not enough to make him deserving of being locked up and hauled off in a strait jacket, but not small enough to overlook, either. He has histrionic-narcissist disorder. I know that's a really big freaking word, but that just means that he's willing to do drastic things for his ego, which is roughly two-thirds the size of a blimp. Like attack people, for instance. Throw that together with a couple of other anti-social disorders, and you've got yourself a man who wants to be left alone, and acts extravagantly, violently, to get what he wants. Having said that, I can only help doctor him if I know how he regressed this far. Since his siblings won't tell me, and I doubt he'd spill the beans even if I outright asked him." I nodded in Gaara's direction, "my hand is forced in this way. If I can't get into his head that way, I have to go by his actions to determine why his mind operates the way that it does."

I inhaled sharply after my monologue, eyeing both men carefully, analyzing their reactions to my speech. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Lee looked stunned, as if he wasn't quite sure what he should be thinking. Gaara wore his usual, angry-eyed, placid face expression. Calm, calculating, dangerous. My least favorite expression of all, because the most I could really interpret from it was an inaudible hiss.

"Go along with this, and refrain from being an ass to me, and I promise you I'll pull every string there is to pull. Just let me do my job."

Lee nodded his understanding, being the Good Samaritan that he was, before yanking a ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket, and a small notepad from his uniform pocket. Then he launched into a volley of questions.

"What kinds of interactions should I watch for?"

"All of them."

"Any types that I should specifically keep an eye out for?"

"Breathing, talking, moving."

"Breathing?" Lee repeated hesitantly, arching a massive brow.

"Yeah. If his breathing is labored and heavy, he's angry. If his breath is normal, he's calm. If his breathing is hoarse and ragged, I think it might mean that he's choking and I hope you know CPR."

"CPR. Right. Yes, I know CPR."

Bushy brow's pen blurred across his paper as he jotted down notes on his notepad. Gaara stared at me calmly, his fingers interlaced in front of his mouth.

"And, for how long must I record these interactions?"

"Two weeks, please," I decided after a moment's thought.

Government inspection was in twenty days. Two weeks of Lee collecting information for me gave me six days to follow up on my promise, and make Gaara a rhetorical happy camper, with at least a temporarily positive testimony to give. I could do that. No problem.

Pleased with my handiwork and the turn of events for the time being, I rose to my feet and clapped my hands together.

"Then we have a deal!"

Lee sprang to his feet, tucking his pen and paper back into their rightful places. Gaara, however, remained seated as he stared blankly at my knees.

"Well, if that is all, I suppose Gaara and I should—"

"No."

I felt my face contort into a mask of horror as I turned to gawk at him.

"What?" I snapped, demanding to know what twisted game he was playing at now.

"I want to stay here," The red head explained flatly.

I felt the urge to upchuck all over his pretty black-and-red Nikes at the suggestion. Or, at the very least, to snatch the man up by his collar and throttle him, screaming, "Who are you, and what have you done with the spawn of Satan?"

Instead, I phrased my curiosity a bit… nicer.

"There's whole milk in the fridge. Nesquik's in the top left cabinet above the stove," I half-heartedly offered.

Bushy brows blinked and slowly gazed around the room as if in a daze, my hospitality having landed upon deaf ears.

"Stay… here?" Lee mumbled, as if the idea was baffling to him.

I didn't blame him for thinking that way. My thoughts were along similar lines, after all.

Gaara's eyes locked onto my blank television screen. I regarded him carefully, before gradually rising to my feet.

"You know, it's more interesting when it's turned on," I blurted, nodding in the direction of the television screen.

I had expected him to glare at me, or to make a cutting remark in response. Instead, he did neither. He only continued to stare blankly at the black screen. I rose an inquisitive brow at Lee, who shook his head and shrugged.

"Do you… have anything else planned for the rest of the day?" I asked softly, silently hoping he suddenly realized he had jury duty or someone to arrest. It felt as if the entire world was out of tilt. "Because, I was kind of done here."

"I had cleaned up my afternoon because I thought that I would be tied up here," Lee admitted sheepishly.

I heaved a sigh, and resigned myself to the duty of having to play the hospitable host.

"Anybody thirsty?" I finally offered after a moment's awkward silence, unsure of what else to do or say. Lee's head perked up at the suggestion.

"Do you have any Red Bull?"

"No," I admitted, cringing at the mere name of the beverage. "I have milk, chocolate milk, water… and, I guess if you really wanted it, I could whip up some coffee or tea."

Bushy brow appeared to become thoughtful, and I frowned at how obvious it was to tell that he wanted to ask for one or the other, but was afraid to impose any inconvenience on me. I took a brief moment to silently thank him for that consideration.

"It's no problem, really. If you want something, just ask me. I can be a gracious host."

"Coffee, please," He finally revealed, gracing me with a smile.

He turned to study my martial arts belts hanging on the wall, and I retreated into the kitchen. I groaned when confronted with the coffee-making contraption, scouring my brain as I tried to figure out how to operate stupid thing.

It had been a present from my great uncle. He'd always been a huge coffee fanatic, and when I graduated from college, I guess he'd hoped to pass the lifelong tradition on to me. Unfortunately, I'd never used it, and never had the chance to ask him how, because he died in a car accident later that very same summer.

I pressed the dull orange button at the base of the machine. Nothing. Frowning, I hit the button again, with similar results. I growled softly at the contraption and moved to press it again, trying to convince myself that the third time was the charm, when a rough voice reprimanded me from my kitchen doorway.

"Might help if you plug it in first, idiot."

I jumped, and glared at the doorway. Having abandoned his post, Gaara leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. His smile was smug, but held only a trace amount of malice, opposed to the full-blown "Go die in a hole" look he typically gave off, which unnerved me. In the time he'd been here, he'd gone from vicious to calm, and now he was amused. I'd tack "moodiness" onto his growing list of problems, only that would be wrong when applied to Gaara. He wasn't moody; I knew that simply from the short time I'd known him, and studied him.

This meant that something, or someone, had pacified him while he'd been here. It was the only explanation.

He stepped into the kitchen, his eyes trained carefully on me. Every hair on my body immediately stood on end. I quickly stabbed machine's cord into the vacant outlet, jabbing the dull orange button a third time. This time, the light came on, followed by a low hissing, steam noise. The sound was like the volume had been turned way down on a kettle. I frowned at it, positive that the machine was not supposed to do that.

"I'm going to assume you didn't put water in it," My red headed overseer speculated dryly, although he still maintained his superior grin.

I scowled at him, though I knew the more I showed him how much he got under my skin, the happier he'd become.

That being the case, I considered handing him a frying pan and asking him to have a go at me, if it truly pleased him.

Instead, I jerked the coffee pot from the rest of the machine, only to realize I should have switched it off first. So, I reinserted the pot, turned the machine off and waited for the bright orange light to die and go dull again. Then I extracted the pot. I edged further down the counter, when I heard a rough, mocking sound almost like laughter. The noise was harsh on the ears and short-lived, but I nearly dropped the pot when my brain made the connection with me hearing, because, I realized it _was _laughter.

"You really are pathetic," He chuckled.

I ignored the cutting remark, discarding the coffee pot on the counter, my patience with this new Gaara having worn paper thin.

"Alright. Whatever twisted angle you're playing at, I'll ask you nicely to stop it, because frankly, you're freaking me right the hell out."

He continued to stare at me, mockery dancing in his eyes. After all this time being hated and insulted by this man, seeing this unthinkable... civil side of him, well, it sent uncomfortable shivers down my spine. But since two could play at this game, I forced the expression of stress to slip from my face, and even managed a weak smile.

"I don't know how to work this thing."

"Obviously."

"Want to make the coffee?"

"Not particularly."

I dropped the polite act, and scowled at him. He returned the gesture with twisted a baleful smile, and his seeming innocence was dropped in an instant. Swallowing at the nervous lump that rose in my throat, I challenged his pacifism.

"Why do you want to be here? Ten minutes ago, you were about to upchuck all over my Berber carpet because you thought you were going to be my friend, and now all of a sudden you're all for hanging around me."

His unsound smile never wavered, and his face gave no sign of caving beneath me.

"You're strange."

"Me?"

I laughed, doubling over and gripping my knees for support.

"Yes."

"Do you _own _a mirror?" I paused, before rephrasing the question after a moment's thought. "Does _Lee _own a mirror?"

When he failed to explain himself, I pressed the issue.

"Alright. So you say I'm strange. Perhaps. But what does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"

Wordlessly, Gaara turned and walked from the kitchen. With a low growl, I tailed him, nearly treading on his heels as I shot catcalls at the back of his head all the way to the living room.

"Hey, wait! I'm not through with you! Answer me! I swear, I'll trip you!"

"Something wrong?" Lee asked, turning away from the wall with wide eyes.

"No, no," I sighed. "Just trying to figure out how Gaara here is physically able to PMS."

"Shut up," The red head snapped.

His smile had diminished to a subtle curve of the lips, but the old hatred was still nowhere to be found in his eyes.

Lee's gaze shifted uncertainly between the two of us, momentarily unsure of what exactly to take of my temporary unspoken truce with Gaara.

"Sorry," I quickly apologized, remembering the coffee incident. "I don't know how to make coffee, so... I kind of dropped the ordeal. I remember how to make chocolate milk, though, if you're interested."

"Thank you, but no thank you."

"Gaara?"

I turned to him, having extended my offer to him as well. He bent down in front of my entertainment center, moving a slow, deliberate finger across the titles, and I rolled my eyes.

"There's only the same titles that were there yesterday. Yes, The Ring is still in my bedroom. No, I'm not going to go get it, you conniving asshole."

The same rough sound as before occurred, like rubbing sand-paper against a brick wall, low and almost unnatural as he laughed softly.

"We could play hide and seek," He suggested.

His attention pulled from the films, he turned back to me, licking his lips in what could have been interpreted as anticipation, although I'm sure he had to have already known my answer.

"In the dark?" I asked edgily. "Hell no."

Lee rose an inquisitive eyebrow at the unspoken "joke" Gaara and I shared. Neither of us replied to his silent question.

I jabbed a finger in Gaara's direction, looking at Lee as I did so.

"You can start taking tabs on him now."

"Oh! Right."

The officer produced the pen and pad of paper once again, flipping it open as he scrutinized Gaara carefully. The grin that had stayed on the red head's face so long vanished, and he scowled hatefully at me. With a smug smile, I plopped down onto my sofa, spreading my arms leisurely across the back of the furniture. I rapped my fingers on the couch rythmtically, counting down the seconds until Gaara would cave. I knew that he'd quickly realize the irritation of having someone watching him constantly like a hawk, and he'd want to leave the moment he got fed up. If I was tired of playing games with him, and tired of seeing that fake, menacing smile plastered so unnaturally on his face, these were the ideal cards to play.

He didn't hold out long.

"Let's go," Gaara droned, rising to his feet.

He folded his arms across his chest, and shuffled towards the door, with Lee close behind. And then, the officer did something that had never happened in the history of me having this house.

"See you around, Miyune."

I blinked, and grinned stupidly to myself. It was an odd, random thought, but I sudden had a realization that I had never conceived of.

I had never been told "good-bye" as someone had left my house in the four years I'd lived here, in any shape, way or form.

Lee closed the door behind him softly, jerking me from my thoughts, and just like that, I was once again just as alone as I'd ever been.

And with a small, satisfactory smirk, I leaned back into my couch, folding my hands behind my head, knowing that I wouldn't have it any other way.


	7. Chapter Seven

_"Sundays never last nearly long enough."_

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder as a male voice screamed in frustration and struck something. It was Kiba again, and judging from the shoe in his hand, he'd just whacked his monitor with it. With teeth bared furiously at the machine, he launched himself into round two with the inanimate object. An obnoxious, wail-like battlecry erupted from his throat, and he slammed the shoe ontop of his monitor three more times. Sakura rolled her eyes in exasperation, groaning aloud, earning her the evil eye from a frustrated Kiba.

I guess his computer still wasn't working. Well, if it had been, it sure as hell wasn't _now_, anyway.

_"And I really, _really _hate Mondays."_

"Oi, Miyu."

I whirled around in my computer chair at the voice that addressed me. The man leaned over the wall of my cubicle, arms folded across the top as his head rested in the crook of his elbow. His eyelids drooped like he was about to fall asleep, and his dark hair was just as carelessly thrown back into a ponytail as mine was, albeit mine being a bit longer than his. Without further ado, I stuck my tongue out at him. I received a lazy smirk in return.

"How did your sabbath go?"

He asked the question like he could honestly care less, and he probably could have. But unlike most other people, I wasn't offended by his careless, nonchalant attitude. Shikamaru and I have an unspoken understanding with one another.

Since I'd spoken with Ino Yamanaka, she took care of herself, and left the hospital. I didn't think I'd had much to do with her recovery, but Shikamaru obviously felt very differently. The man who had once never bothered to recognize my existence suddenly went out of his way to make small chat with me. He'd even once been man enough to ask me out for lunch at McDonald's- it would have been his treat, but he admitted with a shrug that he was too cheap to want to pay for anything else.

_"Besides,"_ He'd reasoned listlessly, scratching his neck lazily. _"It's just down the street. Anything else is farther, and going all the way to McDonald's is already a drag."_

Like an idiot, I'd laughed at him, and refused his cheap attempt at a date. He wasn't offended in the least, but he was miffed at my terminology.

_"It's not a date,"_ He'd insisted.

He then revealed that he and Ino were good friends, and that apparently by me going and "curing" her, I'd unintentionally earned brownie points with Shikamaru. At least, that's what I had gathered from the explanation. Nonetheless, I had declined. He still brought me back a watered-down coke and a chicken club sandwich.

"Alright, I guess," I answered lazily in response to his question. "Didn't last long enough, though."

"Weekends never do."

"I guess."

He stared at me for an awkward second, before revealing the true intention behind his visit.

"I heard you were doctoring a real psycho."

I sighed in irritation at the generic, groundless label that never failed to rub me the wrong way.

"He _does _has a name, you know."

"I know... Gaara, right?"

"So use it."

"Just be careful, alright?"

"What concern is it of yours?"

"None," He admitted with a lazy sigh. "Ino just told me that he was a real nutcase. Scared her. So you'll be cautious?"

"No," I replied with a sarcastic grin, lying through my teeth simply to frustrate him as he'd frustrated me.

"Alright," He answered, his irritation shining boldly through in his sarcastic tone, informing me that I'd done my job. "Just checking."

He ducked back behind the wall, returning to his own little cubbyhole.

And _that's _how my social graces forbade me from keeping these mythical _'friends' _I keep hearing so much about.

Kiba roared, and laid into his computer again, this time with _both _shoes, one slipped over each of his hands. Sakura, of course, snapped before anyone else had the chance to.

"You idiot, would you _knock it off_?" The pink-haired female barked, irritably tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Bite me!" Kiba snapped back angrily, waving his black-and-white Addidas' in wide circles above his head.

"No thanks," Sakura retorted smoothly. "Who _knows _what disease I'd catch."

"Aw, you stupid-!"

He got out the first little sound of the almighty taboo "C" word that would have made every female in a fifty yard radius lay into him when Kakashi's door opened, stopping Kiba's tongue in its tracks. Everyone in the room immediately dropped what they'd previously been doing, every conversation and argument left hanging in mid syllable, and craned their nosy little necks to get a good look at the door.

Kakashi had been in a meeting all morning. I had come into work expecting for him to send me off to meet Gaara somewhere, or tell me to go back home and summon him over to my house yet again. Instead, his door had been shut, and his blinds closed, which was universally known as, "Stay the hell out, or _else_". I, and everyone else hoping to counsel with Kakashi, had been left out in the cold, waiting on our boss to re-emerge.

So naturally, when signs of life finally appeared from our previously M.I.A. boss, we were all ears (but mainly eyes).

"I expect progress, Kakashi. There's no room for error, not this late in the game."

A distinctly feminine voice reprimanded our boss a moment longer, before revealing herself. Drool slipped from the corner of every male's mouth, and every female cast a saddened, longing glance at their chest that deflated every woman's ego, as if they had expected more to be there and had been thoroughly disappointed to realized that there wasn't. As ashamed as it makes me to admit it, even I caught myself stealing a glimpse at my chest.

"Yes ma'am," Kakashi answered obediently, following the blond bombshell out of his office.

Her long, blond locks were tied back into loose, identical pigtails that hung down her back. She had killer legs that were only further flattered with a chic skirt and heels, but it was hardly her legs that accelerated the breathing of every man in the room... except for the always professional Kakashi, who was, literally, immune to the woman's attractiveness. For a moment, even I found myself silently questioning his sexuality, having composed himself so well in her presence.

Because her breasts put the phrase "Double D" to shame. _Horribly _to shame.

For a very brief, very _unrealistic _moment, I considered the possibility of a woman's capability of strapping two oval-shaped microwaves to her chest. Because that's exactly what it looked like was happening.

She turned and placed her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at the silver-haired man as she continued to expertly ignore everyone else in the room.

"I sure hope you aren't just saying that, Kakashi."

"No, ma'am."

_"Ma'am?"_ I mused incredulously.

Since when had Kakashi given _anyone _such respect?

I truly think that I was the first one in the room to compose themselves to a degree to realize that this woman was obviously Kakashi's superior, for him to be showing her this level of respect.

She nodded curtly, before vanishing through the exit.

Even after her departure, many were still envisioning the busty blond in their minds (either envious or lustful), so I do believe I was, again, the only one to see Kakashi exhale his held breath. I took the opportunity to kick my boss while he was still on the rhetorical ground, appearing at his side faster than he could begin to relish in his relief.

"Either you've known her a while and have had plenty of time to get over her gargantuan bosom, or you're the gayest man I've ever met."

His eyes flashed with momentary shock as the realization that _someone _was standing right beside him sank in, only to turn almost immediately to irritation as his glare rested upon me.

"Tsunade," He revealed. "She's overseer of most of Japan's chains of mental facilities and their coordinating institutions."

"So that means she's _loaded_."

I pressed emphasis on the word _loaded_, making the sentence sound much dirtier than it usually would have. I went into hysterical giggles as his face flushed with either embarrassment or anger, his eyes narrowing at my childishly crude pun that wasn't even really all that clever.

"You're making boob jokes now. How very mature of you, Miyune."

"_Hah_!" I roared with satisfaction, pointing my finger gleefully at him. "I got you to say _'boob'_!"

Rolling his eyes, he turned his back on me, making his way back towards his office.

"You're fired."

"No I'm not. You love me too much."

"Damn lucky I do, too."

"So you _do _love me?" I gasped in mock surprise, covering my mouth for an added effect, although it was, for the most part, wasted since he wasn't looking at me.

"Don't push it," Came an irate groan.

I laughed at his door as it slammed shut.

* * *

It happened just as I'd expected that it would.

As soon as Kakashi calmed down from his apparently _unpleasant _encounter with his own boss, Ms. Superjugs, and he calmed down from my own taunting him, I was summoned into his office.

I never would have guessed what for (Hope the sarcasm was evident there, yes?).

As was tradition by now, I locked the door behind me as I stepped into the office. As an added bonus, Kakashi casually flicked his index finger at the window beside his door- a command to close the blinds. I did as was wordlessly ordered of me, wondering what about Gaara was so confidential that he didn't want any peepers, either.

"I need you to take Gaara again this week."

_"Called it."_

"Milk-mounds pissy?"

"_Tsunade_," He growled, correcting my intentional blunder as I began to slide into another round of fitful giggles. "This is crunch time."

_"Roughly translated- _Yes_, she's pissy, and also a bitch to please."_

"Already on it, Kakashi. He's scheduled for every day this week. I even got him to behave. Only..."

"Let me guess..." The silver haired man interrupted me smoothly, "you offered him compensation for his cooperation?"

I grinned at him jovially, slapping my hand lightly on his desk.

"I knew you'd understand."

He sighed, planting his chin in his palm as he propped his elbow up ontop of his desk.

"Whatever happened to consulting with me about these kinds of things?"

"Have I _ever_, really?" I challenged briskly, snickering.

Kakashi always let me off the hook way more than I should be allowed. This he knew, but for some reason, he never acted upon my blatant defiance. I had learned early on that I could take advantage of this tendency of his and get away with it without repercussion, and did so often. So often, in fact, that we both knew well that with my current attitude, I wouldn't last one day at any other job.

Sometimes, I found myself questioning who really wore the pants in this building. Kakashi insisted that it was him, but I'm sure that even he found himself in silent contemplation of the truth from time to time.

"It's a good idea, really, Kakashi."

"Well then, why haven't I heard it yet?"

"I'm getting to that."

He gazed firmly at me expectantly, silently daring me to disappoint him. After a moment, he waved his hand listlessly, wordlessly giving me the floor to speak. Without hesitation, I took it, and danced.

"He wants to be left alone. That much has already been established," I began quickly before his attention, and his temper, strayed elsewhere. "so I played off of his desire for solitude. In exchange for acting at least partially humane, and for Lee to record Gaara's actions, words, etcetera, I promised Gaara the privacy he wanted. A stable job, his own apartment, anything a _normal _person could want... only, he still has to meet with me three times a week for therapy."

"And I'm assuming you want _me _to fix your vocal blunder, and arrange these things for Gaara myself while you play the miracle worker?" Kakashi speculated dryly.

"You know what they say about assuming, Kakashi," I reminded him with a small, crooked smile.

I watched as his eyebrows rose in modest surprise.

"_You're _going to do it?"

"Isn't that what I said I promised him?

"How do you figure you're going to do it all?"

"Very carefully," I responded with a simper.

Judging from his stoic stare and subtle scowl, my boss failed to share my humored sentiments.

"Okay, okay," I amended before he went all Al Capone on me. "Honestly, I wanted to approach his siblings with my proposal."

"Because _that _went over so well for you the first few attempts you made with them," Came his bitter reply.

I froze, felt my heart sink at the mention of Gaara's brother and sister, and even vaguely heard it _clunk _into the hollow shell of my stomach.

"Why so pissy?" I asked softly, already fearing that I knew the answer.

"_'Pissy'_?" Kakashi repeated with the same dry tone he'd been taking with me all day. "I don't get what you're talking about."

"_Damn _it, Kakashi!" I whined, stomping my feet alternatively like I usually did when frustrated. My hands curled into tight little fists at my side, and I punched them into my thighs like a child throwing a tantrum. "That complaint on the Sabakus went through, didn't it? They're already being indicted!"

"Afraid so."

I growled at my toes in frustration, before taking a deep, sturdy breath to calm myself. When I returned my gaze to Kakashi's eye level, I offered him a shaky smile.

"It's alright. They were Plan A, yes, but I always have a Plan B."

"And usually a Plan C," Kakashi commended me generously.

"And usually a Plan C," I agreed with a short laugh.

"But they'll have to wait this time."

"Huh?" I grunted out unintelligibly.

Typically, my boss gave me free reign on cases. He'd give me advice and guidelines to follow, but never before had he ever told me flat out that I couldn't do something _my _way. Frankly, this had me concerned, because I didn't know any other ways aside from mine.

"What do you mean, _'they'll have to_ _wait'_?"

"I'll be accompanying you today to your session with Gaara."

"The hell for?" I demanded, stomping my foot down as I felt another temper tantrum bubbling forth in the pits of me abdomen. "Suddenly, you don't think I can handle it?"

"Not at all," Kakashi explained calmly as he rose to his feet and began to shuffle papers and folders into his black leather shoulderbag (At least, that's what he insisted it was- I still persisted on calling it his purse). "I'd like to get my own assessment of him. Since Gaara's siblings are no longer a potential source of..." He paused as he racked his mind for a word, settling on a _very _loose term, "_support_ for him, I _may _be willing to finance his beginning charges personally for a short time. Depending on my perception of him, of course."

"Kakashi?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I ever told you that I love you?"

"No?" Came his honest answer.

The expression on his face was one of genuine curiosity, and _expectancy_, and I could already see the question forming in his mind and on his lips.

"Good," I shot with a grin. "That lie would just go straight to your head like burgers to your thighs."

And for the first time in a while, I enjoyed the sound of my boss' genuine laugh. The sound sent shivers of happiness up my spine, and enticed a broad smile to surface upon my lips. He even managed to rouse a chuckle from my throat before he shook his head and motioned for the door.

"Let's get moving."

* * *

"Afternoon, sunshine."

"Go to hell."

I beamed at the red head's greeting.

"Good to see you too."

Waving my hand at Kakashi, I reacquainted the two.

"Gaara, this is my boss, Kakashi. Kakashi, this is the emotional mess, Gaara. Play nice, you two."

My sunshine's eyes narrowed like they almost always did when confronted with something new, or something he didn't like. Kakashi wasn't a new face to him, so I took it that in the short time the two had met each other, Gaara had already decided that he didn't like my boss.

"What's he doing here?" He questioned bitterly, his lips curling back away from his teeth intimidatingly, confirming my suspicions.

"He's here to observe the session today, to make sure that I'm doing my job correctly, and that you're not too dangerous of a patient for me."

He opened his mouth to make what was probably yet another insulting, cutting remark, so I sighed and deftly interrupted him.

"I know you probably like him just as well as you like everyone else, which is not at all, but he's my boss. He has a job to do just the same as I do, so you're going to have to deal with us both. Besides..."

I took a moment to breathe, before I laid into Gaara with the news of his brother and sister.

"... You won't have to worry about me springing up your siblings anymore. They, and all the doctors they tipped off, are currently being prosecuted for having weaseled the legal system. _Kakashi _made sure of that."

I offered him a bitter glare, in which he returned with what looked like an almost prideful smile.

_"Prick."_

"Anyway," I sighed, "have a seat. I'll make you two some chocolate milk."

My glare refocused once again on Kakashi as I heard him snicker.

At work, I never used the soda pop vending machines. I never drank from water fountain. Instead, I came into work every morning with three bottles of Nesquik in which I would down all of them in one day. Apparently an odd trait of mine, Kakashi had so generously informed me, and also an amusing one, judging by his mocking laughter.

"Childish, don't you think?" Came the jab from him I knew was coming.

"It's that, or your picky ass can die of thirst."

"Don't you have a clever invention modern civilization calls plumbing?" Kakashi suggested sarcastically.

"Water. Right. I was getting to that."

Gaara studied us carefully, curiously listening to my boss and me take petty jabs at one another like an old married couple.

"The two of you are _friends_," He concluded softly, yet his voice dripped with malice and envy at his revelation of our relationship.

"Friends?" I repeated cautiously. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't quite sure what it was that Kakashi and I had. "I don't know about that. He's just... weird."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?" Kakashi speculated coolly.

"Shut up," I snapped quickly, but not fast enough to stop the shakiness in my tone from shining through like a flashlight in the dark.

I could feel the color in my face darken as blood rushed to my cheeks. Gaara's eyes narrowed dangerously at Kakashi, his fists clenching and unclenching slowly as his breathing shallowed into a deep, guttural growl.

I had seen this behavior in patients a few times before.

Torusai had been a violent man I'd dealt with early on in my career. In fact, that case of mine had been my defining one, the one in which Kakashi first realized what a "crown jewel" I was to have. He was in Kiba's charge, but when the man had chased the dog-lover's pride and joy Akamaru down with a broken glass bottle, he surrendered the patient into more capable hands. Torusai had been much like Gaara in many ways, which is why I initially thought similar methods that had worked for him would work for the red head, too. I guess, that was my prime mistake.

But I eventually found Torusai's Achilles' heel, so to speak. A doctor that worked at the psychiatric ward had caught my patient's eye. However, whenever someone else spoke to her in ways he saw to be "flirty" or "suggestive", he exploded. Attacked the man, and even the woman on occassion. He terrified her and drove her away despite his increasing affection for her, while she continued to grow more and more frightened by him. When he was close to losing his cool, Torusai would breathe heavily, clench his fists and glare.

He'd do exactly what Gaara was doing right _now_.

Before I could overcome my horror and point out Kakashi's potential doom lying in wait behind Gaara's angry glare, the red head's expression softened, his light eyes contrasted by the dark circles around them resting on me. His fingers uncurled; his arms untensed and hung limply at his sides. And just like that, he became unreadable even to me once again.

"So what's the plan with you two? Going to pick apart my mind and tell me what's wrong?"

He tapped his temple with his middle finger as I watched the standard glare gradually resurface in his eyes, his gaze shifting from me to my boss.

"That _was _the general idea, yes," Kakashi responded dryly, mimicking Gaara's sarcastic tone.

My heart skipped a beat as the red head's eyes narrowed scathingly, the familiar hatred flickering in his eyes. In my mind, I watched as he mauled my boss, a large cage sprouting up from the floor as the two men commenced a mortal combat cage match to the death.

I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat, physically stepping between the two out of fear that my little _'vision' _might become a reality.

"Okay children, that's enough. Don't make me put you both in time-out."

"I'm surprised you didn't react in the slightest when Miyu told you that your siblings were being prosecuted," Kakashi obeserved in his disinterested monotone.

Gaara flashed him a malicious smile that made even Kakashi visably frown in dissatisfaction. I rolled my eyes at the method he'd decided to adopt.

Kakashi and I were good at 'picking people apart', but our methods were two very different extremes. While I always tried to stay passive-aggressive unless a patient was really starting to wear on my nerves, _he _would watch the patient's actions and deliberately take the most... belligerent course of action. I guess that he figured if he came off as bored yet hostile as Gaara always seemed to be, he would eventually coax mister sunshine out of the clouds.

He didn't know it, but _I _knew by now that this plan wouldn't work.

In a moment's notice, the smug expression melted away into anger again, his hands curling back into fists as his eyes shifted back into his seething glare.

"_'Miyu'_?"

He spoke my nickname as if it was some nasty disease he'd just been informed that he had.

"Miyune's nickname," Kakashi explained calmly.

His stern gaze flickered to my own wary one, and in that split second, I knew that he'd seen the anguish, the _territorial possessiveness _he'd missed the first time.

Gaara's glowering eyes shifted almost inquiringly to mine, as if seeking confirmation.

I wanted to scream at Kakashi for pushing the burden of answering this maniac onto me, though I knew why he'd done it. Selfish as it was, I could understand why he'd done what he had. He wanted to further analyze the relationship Gaara and I had.

He wanted to confirm his own suspicions, to answer the million-dollar question poised on both of our lips at that moment.

_"Has Gaara developed some sick attraction to _me_?"_

But I had my own fears of what might happen if I voiced the truth, if I said, "Yes, Miyu is Kakashi's nickname for me."

Would he assult Kakashi? Would he assult me? Would he spaz out, and just scream? Or was I wrong, and just being paranoid?

There was only one sure-fire way to find out.

"Yeah," I answered uneasily. "Some people call me Miyu."

"Your friends," Gaara deduced.

"Not necessarily. I don't really consider myself a _'friendly' _person... It'd probably be more appropriate to say that my close acquaintances call me Miyu."

The red head nodded in understanding, and I got the awkward feeling that he was genuinely interested. I shuddered at the thought.

"Cold?" Kakashi speculated, earning himself a scowl on my behalf.

After I refused to answer him, his attention settled on Gaara, and to my shock, graced him with a smile.

"So I hear _Miyu _here is making arrangements to get you on your feet, and out from under Lee's wing."

Gaara visibly bristled at the mention of my nickname. No doubt Kakashi had brought it up intentionally.

Sunshine nodded stiffly, before turning to me again.

"When?"

"It's a work in progress," I admitted, silently wishing for the umpteenth time that my arrogant boss would just kept his mouth shut.

Just as I knew would happen, Gaara scowled, dissatisfied.

"Don't look at me like that. I'll slap that damn evil eye off of your face so fast... you'll wish I hadn't slapped you so fast."

Kakashi's brow rose at my mediocre threat, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Really, Miyune?"

"I was at a loss for words."

"I suppose there's a first for everything."

"Go get stuffed."

The amusement in his eyes diminished, and he glanced over to my little protege.

"The relationship between the two of you goes deeper than you let on, _Miyu_."

Once again, Kakashi's vocal pet name roused a territorial demeanor from Gaara. I ignored the red head this time, however, and allowed my jaw to fall open at the insinuation.

"_'More than I let on'_?" I repeated in horror. "What is it that goes on here, then? Please tell, because God knows we need your professional advice here."

With a dirty look from my boss, he silently bade me to keep my mouth shut. Whatever angle he was trying to play at, I was obviously throwing him off of his game.

So that was it. He wanted to try his hand at mind games with Gaara. Little did he know, Gaara caught on to the _'games'_, and he wasn't a sport about playing along.

"That's not going to work with him, Kakashi," I sighed before the disaster called hurricane Gaara had a chance to strike my living room. "He's not like any patient I've ever worked with. If you try to screw with him, he'll screw _back_."

"Is that so?"

"I know you're thinking that you're the one here with the college education," I began to argue, folding my arms stubbornly across my chest. "You think you know what you're doing, especially since you have several years of experience in this line of work opposed to me. Which is all true. However, every day I evaluate a new concept that applies solely to him, or a tried-and-true method that has always worked one-hundred percent of the time, but failed when I tried to apply it to him. He learns quickly, and he adapts. He's smarter than your average cookie."

I cast the man in question a listless glance over my shoulder, to see him peering at me curiously, awaiting my next words. If I had to guess, I'd say that he's never before in his life been commended for something. Always been under-appreciated and loathed... for reasons I really still had yet to learn.

With a grin, Kakashi nodded approvingly to me, and the realization struck me, slowly and accompanied with much irritation, that I'd just passed another of my bosses' tests.

Had he already realized that Gaara was an adaptable, changing patient? Had he been testing me to see if I'd appropriately come to the same conclusion? It was a definite possibility.

"Gaara? It seems Miyu likes you. How do you feel about that?"

I felt my lips begin to curve into the beginnings of a scowl at his words, only to feel my stomach churn at the answer he received.

_"Mine."_

"_Excuse _me?"

I whirled around to face the red head with an expression that was a mixture of disgust and horror etched onto my face.

"I am no one's property," I clarified with my index finger rose accusingly. "Let alone yours. Since _when _in the hell did you get that idea, anyway?"

Gaara's expression had sank back into its stoic stare, but my blatant fury had brought the inner lecher out in him, apparently. His lips parted slowly in an evil smile, eyes glinting with mischief, and I suddenly had no desire whatsoever to get inside this man's mind.

I turned furiously to Kakashi, ready to lay him out, or punch him through my window at the very least. I was prepared to call him every foul name in the rhetorical book, but froze in my tracks at the grim expression he wore. It was as if the news of Gaara's twisted infatuation had hit him as the most morbidly agonizing thing he'd ever witnessed, or heard of, in his life. But I felt no pity towards him as I rose my hand high above my head, balling it into a tight fist. I guess he didn't even feel he deserved _anyone's _pity either, for what he'd just exposed me to, because my clenched hand made clean contact with his jaw without interference.

He stumbled, catching himself on the back of my couch with one hand as he grunted half-heartedly, unconsciously brushing his other hand across his chin.

For the first time since I'd met him, I knew what it was like to be on the recieving end of his mind tricks, and to not catch him until it was too late.

Kakashi hadn't been playing the game on just Gaara.

He'd been playing mind games with _me_, too.


	8. Chapter Eight

First off, I've come to a decision. At first, I've labeled this fanfic as "general/romance"... I had originally planned on possibly making "general" into "comedy", but wasn't quite sure how Miyune's sarcastic, witty, _twisted _attitude and how she interacted with those around her would be received. But after the reviews I've gotten thus far, and the primary thing being said is how people "love her sense of humor", her obsession with chocolate milk, and just adore my Miyune in general, I figured I'd go ahead and switch the genre. So, congratulations! You guys are officially reading a comedy.

Secondly, I want to apologize for how long this seemed to take me to get this chapter out. I typically update both series at the same time, but _Peace Weaver _isn't even finished yet! I's been a horrible procrastinator... and a busy one, too.

On a third and final note, I can't say how much I appreciate those of you who review. I've said it before, and I'll say it again- It's what keeps me going as a writer on this site. Without them, one would get the impression that even though a million hits are made on a single chapter, but only one or two people bothered to give praise or criticism, their story just isn't worth the effort, apparently. But anywho, on to what you guys really came to this page for.

* * *

In the back of my mind, a little voice piped up, randomly wondering if Gaara was still under the impression that Kakashi and I were all _buddy-buddy_.

I warned it to shut its pie-hole before I socked _it_, too.

My asshole of a boss had probably just set it in stone that I would have a new stalker.

I would end up as a face on the television screen of a poor damned soul that had been abducted, and when people saw me on the news, they'd feel the obligatory twinge of sadness at "yet another loss" that only lasted until their show came back on and the commercial ended.

Furious as I was, I couldn't bring myself to arc my fist back again and poise myself to strike my boss. I wanted so bad to let my anger fly in one angry swing, but I had a feeling that Kakashi was done giving me free shots.

Instead, I lowered my arm, glaring at Kakashi spitefully.

"You'd damn well better have a good motive for pulling that bullshit, Kakashi."

"I do," He assured me, gingerly prodding his chin with the tips of his fingers.

"Then start talking, or I'll start swinging again."

His gaze met mine as he slowly rose his head, and I knew then that he knew my promise was empty. Of _course _my words were empty. I wasn't much of a violent person. Never had been, and I never would be, either. In any case, I got the impression that he was done giving me free shots, and would kick my ass the next time I swung at him. But my boss did us both a favor and explained himself, anyway.

"He struck me as a violent man when we first met. To hear you say that he had never once acted out against you... well, I couldn't _believe _that. If he hadn't hurt or provoked you, then he must've had a motive. Having an infatuation with you was the only theory I could think of, so I went with my gut."

I groaned, rolling my eyes.

_"Great,"_ My thoughts droned silently, reprimanding me for my past blunder. _"So that little white lie I told Kakashi to cover up the blackout came back to bite me in the ass after all."_

"Well, _thanks_," I shot sarcastically. "I appreciate your concern, Kakashi. Really. Now, I have a damn loony toon on my ass."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"Shove it up your ass, Kakashi! Because it's about to be _your _problem, too," I spat. My eyes focused on Gaara, narrowing them as an evil subtle grin began to spread across his lips. "And _you_. You're going the hell back home. Play time _here _is over."

Sunshine didn't argue. Instead, his malicious grin widened, sending nervous shivers of fear down my arms. Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Despite my long-sleeved shirt three sizes too big for me, I tugged the sleeves over my hands in an attempt to mask the sudden trembling my body began to feel.

_"Sleazy bastard,"_ I sneered silently, discovering a new label to dub my patient with.

"Alright. Everyone can disperse now," I exhaled, waving my hand at the two men dismissively. "I hate you both. _Good day_."

Kakashi's lips quivered, and I knew he was practically bursting with the urge to speak. Unfortunately for him, I didn't offer him that opportunity.

"You should realize-"

"I said good day," I grumbled, slicing the air with my hand.

I received a moment's satisfaction as I watched him scowl. "Miyu, that's not cute. Don't _ever _quote that God-forsaken t.v. series again."

"Hey!" I argued, pointing an accusing finger at my boss. "Don't _you _ever call me _'Miyu' _again! You've officially lost the privilege to use pet names with me!"

Sighing, my boss ran a hand through his silvery hair. His lips parted as he began to resist again, but I was done dealing with the drama, the stress... the _people_.

"Get. The hell. Out."

I pointed at the door for what felt like the millionth time. "Or I'll call the cops on you."

Kakashi rolled his eyes in exasperation, and finally turned to the door to leave. I imagined him saying something along the lines of, _"Whatever will get you to stop quoting television." _Instead, he grunted out a perturbed, "Fine. C'mon, loverboy, I'll drop you off. You remember how to get home from here, right?"

"That's _not _even funny, ass-wipe!" I screeched so loud my eardrums throbbed, and my lungs felt as if they were threatening to explode in my throat. "I'm glad _you _feel so nonchalant about causing me this immense discomfort! If I were any other employee, I'd say to hell with the two-weeks notice and quit right now!"

"I know," my boss replied leisurely, the guilt I'd seen in him earlier having worn thin. "which is why I'm grateful you're not just any other employee. That stunt could have been considered a form of harassment, and you could press charges... But we both know you won't. You wouldn't last five minutes at any other job."

_"And there it was."_

"That's besides the point. Now I'm done arguing with you. Take Hannibal Sunshine here and kindly get the hell out of my house."

Only when the pair shut the door behind them could I actually find the fresh air to finally find peace of mind. Clouded with panic, shock, and a bunch of other emotions I never could cope very well with, the overworked gears of my brain seemed to be "jammed"; unable to work properly under the current circumstances. But now...

I shifted my gaze to the stuffed pink rabbit I still had yet to put away from my Easter festivities.

"There has to be an explanation as to why Gaara answered the way that he did..." I reasoned with the inanimate object. " 'Cause there's no _way _any straight, self-respecting man would _ever _be attracted to _me_... It's a law, like gravity... especially not an overly confident, pompous ass like him, who probably believes the woman hasn't been born that deserves him..."

_"So, _why_, then?"_

"That's a damn good question. Let me know when you do."

The rabbit stared blankly at me with its big, black, beady eyes. Suddenly, a rhetorical light bulb went off in my head, and I snapped my fingers at the furry replica, flashing it an excited grin.

"Why _else _would he say something like that? He saw his way out, and he took it! Of _course_!"

My boss wasn't worried Gaara had some freaky psycho crush on me. Gaara wasn't the type to fall into something like that... I had already known that, but I had assumed that Kakashi hadn't.

And that's what I get for assuming.

**"Oh, and press charges on Temari and Kankuro Hisabaku, as well as the mentioned doctors for misdiagnosis."**

**"I... don't want to do that."**

**"It wasn't a suggestion, Miyune." **

**"I know this, it's just... I don't want to."**

So that was it...

Kakashi had been afraid that _I _was the one who had taken an interest in _Gaara_, not the other way around. I should have seen this coming, really, after I so boldly stood out like I had. I should have known that after I'd tried to protect the Hisabakus like I had, that my boss would go poking his nose around to figure out why.

Kakashi hadn't been playing me for a fool. Nor did he actually think that Gaara felt anything but hostility towards me.

He'd merely set me up for another of his little mind tests.

And judging by my outraged reaction as well as the shot to the face, I think he got his answer loud and clear.

* * *

The doctor has a sleek silver car with a convertible top roof. Some people will never be very good with vehicles, but even an idiot could decipher the galloping horse on the grill of the car.

A 2008 mustang convertible. _Whatever_. Although _I _used to have cars like these thrown my way as a result of a hand-me-down my brother would grow tired of within a week or two, I'd be willing to bet that this piece of shit was the asshole's pride and joy of his miserable life.

"Front seat," He ordered me.

I glared at him from across the top of the car. He returned the gesture apathetically, staring me down blankly. My gaze dropped down to the tinted windows, and then further to the too-shiny doorhandle.

Yeah, he _definitely _babied this car.

Simply out of spite, I reach for the backseat door. Before my hand even touched the handle,

"I said the _front _seat."

I sneered at him distastefully, before swinging the backseat door open wide. Offering him a snide grin, I placed my hand on the hood of his car, drumming my fingers.

"Fine," He retorted, a sliver of irritation coming through his tone as I watched in satisfaction as his eyes narrowed at my disobedience. "we can stand here all day if you want to. I don't mind."

_"I'm sure you don't, jackass."_

Who the hell did he think he was fooling? As if _my _schedule was booked or anything. I would just go back to that annoying prick of a probation officer, and that's where the rest of my day would be spent. In his barely finished, windowless basement, where it was the only free room he had to offer.

No, I wasn't missing anything special.

Besides, that increasingly impatient look on the doctor's face was entertainment enough for me.

Was he compensating for something? Probably. Bastard was just like Kankuro, indulging in pointless, purposeless pleasures to satisfy their momentary urges.

I _hate _people like that.

"I'm guessing you're waiting for me to offer you something in return for listening to me," He finally reasoned with a theatrical sigh. "_Miyu _has made it clear to me that you like to barter. I understand that. How _else _are you supposed to get what you want?"

There was that nickname again. I ground my teeth together in fury, my wisdom teeth aching from the pressure. I wonder, what would she think if I came up with my own nickname for her? Would she be disgusted? Repulsed? Probably.

They always were. After all, nobody likes having special attention from a _monster_.

... Except for _her_. She's always the exception, it seems.

Pisses me off.

"Or, are you just _always _a pain in the ass?"

He didn't deserve to hear my voice. I liked watching him get pissed when I didn't answer, anyway. Just like father always does. They get angry, but they know better than to do anything but piss and moan about it.

"Just get in the damn car. I don't even care which seat anymore," He groaned, sliding behind the wheel.

I bet he'd start caring real quick if I tried to get in the driver seat.

I felt the skin of my lips tighten as I smiled, and shifted it towards _her _front door.

Was she looking out the window at us right at this moment? I hope so. I may not be able to see it myself at the moment, but to know that she _could _be standing there, gazing at my face as I flashed her the wicked smile I know she so hates, glaring at me and hastily covering her arms to try and mask the shivers that ran up her body-

"_Gaara_," The doctor scolded firmly when I hadn't moved.

I shot him a glare, the smile wiped from my face.

"Go to hell."

"I have to babysit _you _for the next ten minutes, at _least_," He reminded me, his eyes denoting his enthusiasm towards the task at hand. "So as far as I'm concerned, I'm already there."

Grumbling profanities underneath my breath, I slammed the backseat door shut behind me so hard that all four windows rattled. I smirked as I craned my neck to get a good look at the doctor's shaken expression through the rear-view mirror, confident that he had been shocked by the impact. Instead, he smiled back patiently at me.

"Well, would you look at this. _A smile_. Didn't know you were capable of that. Good to know."

_"Sarcastic prick," _I snarled silently to myself, slumping back into my seat as my lips curved back into a scowl.

No sooner than he'd put the key into the ignition, a soft _thump _hit the roof. _This _time, the doctor jumped, much to my displeasure.

"Kakashi!" _Her _voice rang out, chipper and amused.

Not at all like the way we'd just left her only a minute ago.

"Moron, you forgot your jacket!"

The doctor did a double-take around the interior of his car, mumbling incoherently to himself, as if he'd sworn he'd picked it up. After a moment of searching fruitlessly, he stepped out of his car and swiped the garment in question from the hood. I, on the other hand, was turned around facing the back window and on my knees in a moment's notice. I craned my neck to catch a glance of _her _before we had to leave. It was out the side window she leaned out, her right arm outstretched and curved above her head as if she'd just thrown a free-shot.

Her skin was a pasty white color, like she'd never set foot outside before. The dark mess of hair I'd grown so accustomed to seeing pinned up in a sloppy bun fell in waves around her shoulders and down her back. And her eyes... they were nothing special on most people, but on her, with her luminous pale skin that looked like it might glow in the dark (but knew from experience that it didn't), they almost seemed to glow. Like there were these strange, dull green fireflies in her eyes.

I _hate _fireflies.

"You're welcome!" _She _said in a sing-song voice, before ducking back inside and closing the window.

The driver's door opened again, and I turned back around just as the doctor slid inside the car.

"You like her a lot, don't you?"

He asked the question so nonchalantly, so apathetically, it took me by surprise. From what I'd gathered, Miyune and her boss were very close. They argued frequently, one often instigating the other purposefully, much like Temari and Kankuro did with one another.

And yet neither had to say it aloud. I knew that my siblings _loved _each other.

But the doctors weren't related.

I wondered, did Kakashi _love _that woman? Did she _love _him?

"But she doesn't love you."

I cringed angrily at his statement.

_Bastard_. I already knew that.

The car roared to life as he turned his key in the ignition.

"I won't let you hurt her," the doctor clarified, speeding down the driveway.

Gravel flew in every direction as the mustang's tires spun us closer to the main road.

"There's only been one time I let her go far enough to get physically injured. I think _I _was more shaken than she was, but that's the reason I have to keep a close eye on her whenever she takes on people like _you._ She has this complex that she can... _save _anyone, no matter the situation they're in, and she can get reckless. _Never _trusting, but reckless."

He shot me a glare through the rear-view mirror, and I returned the gesture with a crude smirk of my own. I knew exactly where this conversation was going.

And it was _exciting_.

"I've seen the way you look at her. You're probably one of those sick bastards that get off on gutting fish, or torturing animals. You have an evil look in your eye, and I don't like it. I really don't think Miyu has a chance at "saving" you. Not because of _her _abilities, but because of your desire to stay where you are. You _enjoy _torturing others, don't you? Physically, and mentally?"

"_Enjoy_?" I repeated, my voice dripping with mock surprise. I flashed the doctor another wicked smile, only to see that his attention was back on the road. I laughed softly to myself, before I took the chance at the doctor I'd been _dying _to get since the first time I'd seen him look at _my _Miyune with such concern. Such _affection_.

_"I _**love **_it!"_

Grasping a handful of hair in my fist, I jerked back on his head. The car spun in a complete 180, the back end of the car parked in the shoulder of the road as he stepped on the brake. He grunted, but was otherwise impervious to my assault.

_He'd seen that coming?_

I tried to release him before he could retaliate, but his hands left the wheel before I could move. His grasp was like iron around my wrist, rendering me immobile. He yanked on my arm, and enticed a gasp from me as he flung me between the seats and into the dashboard. The vehicle behind us laid on his horn angrily as they swore out of their window and swerved around us. I groaned as I slumped onto the gear shift, my back throbbing.

"_That _was assault," I heard the doctor chuckle. "Try telling anyone that it was _I _who attacked _you_, and who do you think they'll believe?"

He pushed me off of the gear stick and onto the floor, shifting it into reverse as he calmly backed along the shoulder of the road, then into park.

"I wanted you in the front seat anyway."

I sneered at his comment, seething quietly to myself.

"Miyune doesn't see things like most people," the doctor spoke again.

I brought myself up from the floor, resting on the seat on my elbows.

"Many crave relationships, yearn them- But not her. She prefers to be alone. She isn't interested in a lasting friendship, least of all in _you_. This is her job. End of story. The sooner you get that through your head, the better off you'll be."

"I don't want _love _from her," I spat, the word falling from my tongue in disgust.

"Oh, I know that," the doctor assured me, a small smile forming on his lips. "What you feel is undoubtedly lust. Or some twisted form of attraction... Either way, she's off limits, because once you _do _try something with her, she _will _annihilate you. I don't have to be her friend to know that much."

"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded furiously, pulling myself further into the seat.

"Because the last thing I want is a call from her saying that she's murdered a patient," Kakashi responded dryly. "Now, if you're done playing, sit in that seat _right_. And buckle up. If I get a ticket, it won't be because you're not strapped by a seat belt."

Not waiting for me to reply or to obey, Kakashi shifted the car into drive, then peeled back out onto the road, tires squealing beneath us as he already pushed sixty and rising in this forty-five mile per hour zone.

I _hate _doctors.


	9. Chapter Nine

In case any of you seemed to think that Gaara seemed a bit OOC... I'm here to blatantly rebuke that. Sorry, but in case someone was left out of the loop, Gaara having a taste for violence is nothing new to the books. If you've picked up the real _Naruto _series at all, then you should know that pre-Shippuden Gaara was, in fact, a murderer. Now, because of the stage I've set for this story, he obviously can't kill so freely in modern-day Japanese society as opposed to how semi-feudal Japanese shinobi could, but he sure as heck can still be violent. And he is.

Also... I'm aware it's been two whole months since I last updated. Yes, I'm sorry... but you got over it the second you realized that chapter nine was up, didn't you? Ha ha...

With that out of the way, I have applied my, erm, "mad skizzles" (sounding strangely like 'skittles' when you say it...) to bring forth yet another chapter for you maniacal readers. Enjoy.

* * *

"So, how's the blossoming friendship between you and and that psychotic patient of yours I've heard _so _much about?"

"Funny man, you are," I snorted into my cup.

I intentionally evaded meeting his scrutinizing, cynical gaze. Instead, I focused my stare on the cliche coffee mug print on the outside of the shop, and how much I _really _didn't want to be here.

It helped... even if just a little.

"What can I say," My father grunted. "You've always had an eye for the freaks. Just look at that boss of yours. He can _hardly _be called a doctor. Then there's that..."

He crossed his right leg over his left knee. He frowned, his voice trailing off into the atmosphere as his eye caught a minuscule blemish on the iron table. He began brushing his thumb over the small rust spot, scowling at it in distaste, as if it had done him some personal harm. I rolled my eyes at his unfortunate habit, half out of annoyance and half out of spite in Kakashi's defense, earning me a harsh glare.

No wonder he was so irritible with me.

"Don't antagonize me."

"I didn't say a word," I responded honestly, holding up my hands as I struggled to keep from laughing at him and his ridiculous idealistic obsession. "Regardless of how badly I _wanted _to, I _didn't_."

"You're antagonizing," he warned me in a gruff tone.

"Stop being such a pansy," I sneered at him, my patience with him quickly deteriorating. My rudeness was rewarded by an evil glare and a low growl. Before he had a chance to speak, I whisked my spoon off of the table and jabbed at my father through the air with it, making direct eye contact with him for the first time that day. "Now, in case you haven't noticed yet, you're taking up my work-time. I'm on the clock, and you're not, so whatever you wanted, _spill it_. You should know by now to drop the formalities with me."

My father didn't know that as of late I had been working from home with Gaara, but I wasn't about to break the one good excuse I had in my favor if I needed an emergency get-away. He heaved a sigh, leaning back in his chair. Dropping his hands into his lap, his green eyes focused on me.

"I heard about that lawsuit your company filed against the Hisunas, and a variety of doctors."

"How?"

"You don't keep suing the Prime Minister's kids under wraps."

_"Oh, riiiight..."_

I dropped my spoon, and reached for my glass again. When I didn't want to talk, or was at a loss for words, I could simply take a drink. It was a nice cover-up.

"Miyune, you have to convince your boss to drop that."

"I can't," I explained cautiously, chewing nervously on the bottom of my lip as I set the glass back down on the table. "It's standard procedure when something like that happens. If Kakashi didn't report it, and it was found out we were hiding something as big as- "

"As big as _what_, pray tell?" He snapped.

"As big as bribing doctors and weaseling the legal system with money," I shot impatiently, leaning forward across the table. Just as I'd expected, I watched as his face softened, confusion dominating his features.

"And of course, you didn't bother to do your homework, did you? Start doing a little individual research before you come to me and try to tell me how to do _my _job."

He took the cutting insult like a man. Whether it was because he was still shaking off his confusion, or because he was preoccupied second-guessing his own motives for being here now, I don't know.

"Weaseling... the legal system?"

"Yeah," I explained dully, leaning back into my chair once again. "my current patient is the youngest son of the prime minister of Japan. He's got some issues, and because daddy and his older siblings didn't feel like dealing with him, they threw him into a mental institution."

"A _mental institution_?" My father blurted incredulously. "What the hell for?"

"It's what he wanted."

"He _wanted _to be tossed into a nuthouse?"

"Like I said, he's got some issues."

His teeth began to nibble at his bottom lip. A habit of his when the wheels in his head started working in overdrive.

"Besides, if you want to get technical, my company isn't the one who sued. We just filed the complaint to the mental hospital. _They _are the ones that sued the Hisunas."

I allowed the awkward silence to drag on a moment longer, before I pressed the matter further.

"What do you care anyway? I wasn't aware you were so patriotic."

"No," My father groaned. His hand went to his temple, in which he began to massage softly. "It isn't that."

"Then _what_? And who told you anything about this? We shouldn't even come up on the radar when this all hits the fan, anyway. Like I said, we just filed the matter. The ones with the final say were the hospital."

"I heard it from a doctor at the office," he explained. "who heard it from his kid, who's a doctor the very same mental hospital. Your name came up, as well as the charges they were pressing."

"Great to know my endeavors are appreciated. But that still doesn't explain why you should care."

"I'm your _father_, Miyune."

His lips were pursed together tightly, and I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"Does everything I do have to have a personal-gain motive?"

"Well-"

"You know what? Don't answer that."

My father stood up, picking up his jacket from the chair, in which it was draped. My heart fluttered at the lack of father-depravity I'd grown so accustomed to, and I immediately felt guilty for having automatically assumed so harshly. In a flurry of emotional abandon, I called after him.

"Have a good day at work!"

It wasn't until he glanced back at me, his eyebrow cocked in confusion, that I realized he had just finished saying that he didn't _have _work today.

"T-tomorrow, I meant," I quickly corrected.

He nodded, before fishing his car keys out of his pocket and vanishing down the block.

Exhaling, I prodded my forehead with my index finger.

_"Either that was just a very convenient, very discreet, very well-placed "the-father-still-loves-the-daughter" innuendo... Or he was using that to cover up for the real reason he's so genuinely concerned." _

I sighed, and dismissed the matter from my mind altogether as I rose from my seat and abandoned my coffee cup on the table.

_"Doesn't matter. I have to put on my happy face now, because in an hour, I meet with the Sunshine."_

_

* * *

_

My fingers flicked with almost blurred speed through the list of movie titles. I wasn't still fuming about the previous day's incident, with Gaara's very inappropriate, very _unnerving _confession (mainly because I realized he had been using that excuse because he knew it would make me uneasy, and get him out of my humble abode all the faster, both of which were viewed as a win-win situation as far as he was concerned), but I did want to try a new approach. Which, it seemed, that's all I had _ever _been doing.

Trying a new approach, having it fail _miserably_. Trying a new approach, having it fail _gradually_. Trying a new approach...

But with each failure, it seemed that I was failing a little _less _than before. So, statistically, I should soon start _succeeding _with him, which was an exciting prospect.

Maybe I had been too forward with him; could I have been too, "business-like"? Perhaps that's what turned him against me so fast.

_"Or maybe it's your initial deduction, and he's just a bastard that hates everyone just as equally and just as bitterly."_

My phone didn't give me time to make a decision, although I already had a fairly good idea which one it was of the two, because the cellular device began belching squalling guitars and throbbing drums in my ear. My hand reacted almost quicker than my brain did, swiping the device off of the coffee table and having it flipped open before you could say, "Les Paul".

"This is Miyune."

"Of course it is."

I sighed, almost deliberately, into the receiver, hoping that the gesture would relay my sudden disheartened state to hearing his voice.

"What do you want, Kakashi?"

"I tried to reach you earlier, but you didn't answer. Where were you?"

_Damn_. I knew I should have brought my phone with me when I visited my father. It would have given me a good excuse to bail on him. And of course, since I didn't really expect phone calls, I never checked it to see if anyone had bothered with me.

"I misplaced it."

Wasn't a lie. I _had _misplaced it... at _home_, before I left.

"Fine. In any case, I have my own diagnosis of Gaara."

"He's not _your _patient," I groaned irritably into the phone. "so stop doing that."

"He's a sadist."

"Yeah... I gathered as much. Most people just don't like being called _sadists _to their faces, so I kind of held my tongue on that one."

"He's dangerous, Miyu."

"Hey, what did I tell you about calling me that?" I snapped, ignoring the rest of the sentence. "You _lost _that privilege!"

"You need to start coming to terms with the idea that there may be a patient you can't handle."

"Kakashi... I am _not _having this argument with you. Gaara's going to be here in about ten minutes, and I'm in a decent mood. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep it that way, but I'll let you know how it goes."

That being said, I stretched my index finger, and tapped the phone shut, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end.

Sighing, I stared blankly at my black, empty television screen.

It wasn't as if I hadn't already thought the same thing myself time and time again before now. But I had shoved that impossible idea to the back of my head, and dismissed it as inane. Only, hearing the vocal declaration of the lack of faith come from my boss, who had never, _ever _doubted my capabilities before, was like slap in the face.

But it made me wonder... If yesterday he hadn't been so skeptic, but today he was questioning me... what had changed since then?

Of course, it was obvious.

_The drive home._

Kakashi must have discovered something startling about Gaara while dropping him off. But what?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

I lifted the phone in my hands, and dialed my boss' number. He picked up before the very first ring had even finished its full duration, informing me that he'd expected I'd call him back. His first words, however, made my blood boil.

"Renouncing your patient?"

"Hardly," I shot back venomously, feeling a sneer creep onto my face. "Like I said, Gaara's going to be here very soon, so let's make this quick. What happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" Came his perplexed response, much to my chagrin.

His voice skipped several octaves at the end of the word, and I scowled into the receiver at his vague reply.

"I said we had to make this fast."

"What about yesterday?"

"When you took the bundle of joy back to Lee's," I blurted out impatiently. "what happened on the car ride?"

"What makes you think _anything _happened?"

"Because before you left, I passed your little test, Kakashi. You wanted to see if I was protecting Gaara, if I'd grown attached to him. Which was when I punched you in the face. You were so sure that I was capable when I left. Now, suddenly, you're not?"

"... _Test_?"

"Damn it, Kakashi!"

"I never gave you any... test."

"Fine! Jedi mind trick! But you _failed_, Luke!"

"Do you have medication you're on?"

That one tripped me up a little bit.

"Erm... no?"

Okay, so that was an understatement. It didn't "trip" me up. It choke-slammed me on the ground with its spontaneous randomness.

"Well, you should."

Oh, now _that _makes sense. I laughed softly to myself at my boss' insulting jab.

"I know."

"There was no... _test _for you. Nor did I use my... Jedi... mind tricks."

Ordinarily, I would have gotten a kick out of hearing Kakashi say "Jedi mind tricks". Instead, I was preoccupied with the rest of his sentence.

My tongue fumbled for words. The wheels turning in my head promptly screeched to a halt, dazed and confused. Had I misread Kakashi's intentions?

"Then what the hell was with all that crap you pulled about Gaara having some creepy infatuation with me?"

"He _does _have a creepy infatuation with you. I already told you that."

And just like _that_, his small, insignificant sentences punched a gaping hole in my rhetorical rulebook of life. As far as I was concerned, the world was no longer turning.

"No," I argued stubbornly, my voice curt and rude. "Gaara went along with what your dumb ass was saying because he knew he could creep me out if he went along with it. And it's already been established that he's a sadist."

"Yes, he is. But that isn't the only reason."

I bit my lip, and racked my brain for a new excuse.

Gaara was a sadist. He liked making people uncomfortable. But he didn't treat women any differently than he did men; Temari and I were proof of that. I had thought I knew why Gaara took so much pleasure in making me feel uneasy- for the very same reason he instigated everyone _else_. Because making others feel _violated _made him feel _good_.

But according to what Kakashi was insinuating, there was another reason Gaara targeted me... And I wouldn't accept that it was because he had some messed-up fantasies about me.

And yet, a little voice in my head warned me that if I asked again, Kakashi would tell me just _that_.

"So, what happened yesterday on the ride to Lee's?" I persisted, attempting to strike up a change of subject.

"We talked."

"... Talked? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well, what was said?"

"You know better than to ask me something like that. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Sorry."

"Ugh! You son of a-"

As if a timely censorship, a series of knocks fell upon my door. I rose to my feet from my spot on the floor, and made my way to greet the patient in question.

"So that's all you two did? Talk?"

"Yes."

Somehow, I found that hard to believe... Unless something very profound had been said.

"If something of such magnitude was said that you would suggest I give up on him, I think I have a right to know."

"Given what has happened... with the black-out stunt he pulled, his anger, his background, and to top it off, his attraction to you... It's safer you stay as far away as possible from him. People like him are prone to violence, and they _will _act upon it, Miyu. You can diagnose him as long as you'd like, but at the end of the day, you won't impact him."

I opened my front door with my free hand, stepping aside to allow the two men beyond entry.

"Alright, yeah. Thanks for your input, but you've been less than no help at all. I'll tell you all about the session later. Toodles!"

I didn't wait for a response before I snapped the phone shut and slipped it into my pocket.

"Lee, thanks for dropping him off. Come back in... say, two hours?"

Again, my impatient side took control, and I was already ushering him out of my house faster than a bouncer threw a violent drunkard out of a club before I heard so much as an, "alright", or even a protest at my lack of hospitality.

Shutting the door behind me, and nearly pinching the officer's nose between the door and its frame in my haste, I whirled on Gaara.

The same small voice in my head squealed uneasily at the cocked eyebrow the man offered me, and the crooked smile that tugged dangerously at the corner of his lips. It suggested I'd be safest if I stuffed him into one of my kitchen drawers for the next couple hours.

Of course, as I usually did, I told her to stuff it.

"Today, we're going to focus on making good of our promises to one another," I informed him, rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

"_What _promise?" Sunshine growled, whatever glee he had formerly shown quickly contorting into a menacing sneer, as if taken aback by the idea that he had ever done such a thing.

"The one where you're a good boy for the government, and I get you set up to live on your own. Remember?"

He stared back at me, his stony face wiped clean of any emotion. Either he'd very conveniently forgotten, or he had gone completely brain-dead.

I sighed, and waved both thoughts to the back of my mind, the wheels in my head finally beginning to hum back to life.

"Look. You're the only job Kakashi's tasked me with. Everyone else is at the office prettying up their little cubicles, erasing inappropriate files from their hard drives. I would normally be with them during this insane rush-hour of annual government kiss ass, putting in my usual nine-to-five grind at the office. However, thanks so much to you, I work from about noon to two, maybe three at the latest."

I paused, theatrically allowing a small smile to play across my lips.

"I have so much _me _time. It's blissful."

"Pity," Gaara drawled, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Yes, it is," I agreed quickly, the smile slipping from my lips, "because I might be out of a job if I don't make good use of the time I'm allotted with you. Kakashi expects you to be, ah... "cured", by the time government inspection rolls around. Or, at least, to give them the illusion that you're a-okay. And if you're not, a problem as big as you could cause problems. I doubt they'd shut us down on the first offense, but we sure as hell wouldn't get a mere slap on the wrist. That annual inspection might just become a bi-annual inspection. And God knows Sakura and Kiba can't handle _that_."

"Who?"

"Sakura... the pink haired sociologist you assaulted a week before you met me. And as for Kiba... you don't know him. Loves his dog. Treats him like a treasured family member. Likes to bite inanimate objects."

Gaara's nose wrinkles in disgust at the mental image I'd undoubtedly planted in his head. I laughed, and shook my head.

"Oh, shut up, you sadist. Like he's any more strange than _you _are, Mr. Sunshine."

The red head scowled at the label I'd coined for him, which only made my heart swell with pride. His mouth snapped open, prepared to protest the name, but I curtly brushed his argument aside.

The name was _mine_, I say, **mine**, and I wasn't taking it back for anything.

"Anyway, you see my predicament. So, I was thinking about keeping you longer. After today, that is."

I watched his jaw slacken, and his eyes slowly widen as his mind began to come unglued.

This wasn't a card I'd originally intended to play on him. But after hearing Kakashi voice his doubts, I was beginning to question myself as well. Although I'd never admit it out loud, the pessimist in me warned me that I'd never be able to help someone like Gaara.

It's one thing to try to help someone who _wants _to be helped. It's another thing altogether to attempt to aid someone who _enjoys _the pain and selfishness he's absorbed himself in.

I didn't even want to consider the idea that perhaps... yes, Gaara _does _in fact have some twisted, inexplicable attraction to me... But at this point, I was desperate. I would play off of anything that was dealt to me.

"Longer..."

His lips scarcely parted as he spoke the word. I failed to see what importance it held for him, but then again, I failed to see a lot of things about him.

"Maybe, something like an extra hour or two. I need more time, or you'll never pass for the inspection for us. It's either that... Or you can simply _pretend _to be a satisfied patient who loves the personal, understanding nature of the wonderful staff of Clearwater Institute, and all that generic hubah-loo. For a price of course, one of which I'm not to picky about negotiating right about now."

"If they think I'm... _better_, then they will agree that I don't need any more of these idiotic sessions?" Gaara spoke slowly, enunciating every word precisely, as if he was afraid he had missed an important piece of information and could hardly believe what I'd said.

Unfortunately for me, he'd heard _exactly _what I'd said.

I swore softly under my breath, before nodding reluctantly.

"That's right... If the government inspectors think you're in the clear in terms of mentality, then... whatever they say, goes. Not I, and not even Kakashi can argue with them on that one."

As soon as the words had left my mouth, I wished I had lied instead. I watched a malicious grin spread across his lips, flashing his teeth in delight.

"But I don't _want _to stop this yet," He revealed boldly. "I'm having fun, playing these games."

"Games?" I demanded immediately, momentarily deterred from the sinister glaze in his eyes by the words that spewed from his mouth. "What's a game to you? Jerking my head around in circles? Screwing with Kakashi?"

"Kakashi..."

At my boss' name, the red head's face darkened. The wild look on his face rose goosebumps uneasily down my arms.

"I hate him."

"You don't like anybody," I nonchalantly reminded him.

"Shut up," Came his cutting reply.

"Hey!" I snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him as my eyes narrowed at his boldness. "Watch it, or I'll toss your ass out the window."

He glared evilly at me, and I wondered how he was having fun, when all he seemed to do was argue and scowl at people.

"He's a masochist, too..." I murmured to myself, blinking rapidly as I gazed at him in genuine interest.

He was anti-social. Narcissistic. Sadistic. Angry. Delusional. And now masochistic as well. The list was growing all the time. Not that it was all surprising.

"What do you mean by, "game"? What part of this is a game to you, Gaara?"

"All of it," he declared brashly.

"Well, that's specific," I groaned. Taking a brief second to finish weighing my options, I delivered the final blow upon Gaara's self-esteem. "Look. There isn't a possibility in the world that I think you could ever pull this off in time. Mainly because you don't want to be helped. But if we can at least show proof that you're better than you were before we got our hands on you, then that may just be enough to show that we _are _working. Now, like him or not, Kakashi's got connections. He can set you up with an employment agency, as well as get you an apartment somewhere, and even have your first deposit waived if your family absolutely will not help you. Demonstrate to us, and to _them_ that you can do all that, and you won't even need to speak to them face-to-face. We'll just pull up your paperwork if they ask for it, which is highly probable, seeing as how you are the Prime Minister's son. That isn't a subtle matter. It's likely that the inspectors will automatically have an immediate interest in you personally, thanks to the loud-mouthed media."

"I don't care what anyone thinks of me."

"No, I'm sure you don't... But try to keep your family in mind. If you don't make a recovery, then sooner or later, they will jerk you out of here themselves. Then what of your game, huh?"

Gaara's head slowly tilted to the side, as if to consider my reasoning.

I had stumped him, hook, line and sinker.

"If you want to keep playing these games, then you're going to have to have a part _my_ game. And it's a little game called, "kiss the government's ass until they're happy and leave"."

"I will kiss _no one's _ass," Gaara clarified harshly, his eyes narrowing at me.

"Come on, now. We all serve somebody. And that somebody, in our case, is The Man."

A little part of me had hoped that Sunshine would triumphantly declare something along the lines of, "Screw The Man!" And that part of me died a little inside when all he did was continue to glare at me.

"You have your options in front of you. Choose something, so I can get on with my job, with or without you here."

"I don't have to choose," The red head decided to point out boldly. "My father was obedient to my wishes before, so what makes you think that he won't listen to me again?"

_Damn_.

The _one _hole in my plan, but it had been so obvious to him that he could have driven a truck through it.

That was just my luck, really.

"Okay," I reasoned quickly, as not to appear stripped of all my dignity and wit. "we can play your way, too, smart ass. Let's get daddy to do everything for you, shall we?"

Pushing his buttons only served to bring me momentary pleasure. The glared he targeted me with, as usual, made the hairs all across my body rise in alarm.

"I'm going to start making you wear sunglasses," I warned him, drawing small circles in the air with my index finger.

And just like that, the glare vanished from his eyes, replaced by his blank, "I-have-no-clue-what-you-just-said" face.

For some reason, that expression always made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Okay, Cujo, c'mon. What's your answer?"

His brows furrowed, and his lips parted slowly, poised to answer me. To say I was modestly surprised when I heard the ringing of a doorbell instead of his gravelly voice was an understatement.

I watched his mouth snap shut, and his eyes angle at the door beyond me in curiosity.

With a groan, I threw my hands dramatically into the air, twirling around quickly to answer the door.

"_What_?" I demanded instinctively as I jerked the door wide open.

Immediately, I regretted my rude words in my haste, and I blanched. I bit my bottom lip as my guest narrowed her eyes at me.

"S-sorry, miss... ah..."

My hand rose of its own accord, slapping me in the forehead as punishment for forgetting the woman's name.

I instantly regretted _that_, too.

This woman could jerk my job out from under my feet faster than I could say, "sayonara."

"I sure hope _you're _not Miyune Agnusdei, and just her strange housemate," She droned, pursing her lips and planting her hands on her curvy waist.

"Unfortunately, yes," I murmured, not at all ecstatic to admit as much.

I let my hands swing down lazily at my sides, stepping aside to grant her entry into my home, that suddenly seemed like a sty the second she stepped inside in all of her glamour.

"Tsunade," She curtly informed me, stroking her fingers leisurely through one of her pigtails. "You'd do well to remember that."

_"_Tsunade_! That had been it! Damn it, Miyu!"_

Her eyes rested on Gaara, who returned her gaze with a hateful stare. Tsunade's fingers paused in her hair in mid-stroke, and her eyes adopted a far-off look, as if deep in thought. I immediately recognized the look she was giving him, as _all _psychologists had a variety of the same kind of stare.

Suddenly, the floor seemed to fall out from beneath me.

My boss' boss was here, analyzing my patient.

Only one word seemed to grace my instantly frayed nerves.

_"Shit! Shit shit!"_

"Why're you here, lady?" I blurted out absent-mindedly, scared for my job... and for my breasts.

This woman looked as if mine wouldn't be the first ones _hers _had devoured.

"Tsunade," I quickly corrected myself. "If you don't mind my asking... why are you here, _Tsunade_?"

"You will return to work on your normal hours, Miyune. From here on out, I will be taking over as the overseer of Gaara's progress."


	10. Chapter Ten

I finally finished it up! Yeah! Here's to Tuna-and-Froggy, who, in all honesty, gave me that last push to wrap this chapter up today. After reading their review, I experienced a second wind, so to speak, and decided to buckle down and post this chapter today. So read this, my pets. (And then go do your college homework like good children).

* * *

"That was _your _idea, wasn't it?"

Kakashi sighed heavily, his hands sprawled across the top of his desk as he let the pencil fall from his grasp. His gaze flickered up to me, and for a brief moment, my antagonistic resolve wavered.

Since the last time I'd seen my boss, bags had formed under his eyes. His eyes were hollowed out by weariness, his lips puckered sadly. If I hadn't just seen him less than twenty-four hours ago, I would have said that he hadn't slept in _days_.

"Jeez, boss-man, you look like crap."

"Thanks," came his jaded reply.

I blinked rapidly, suddenly remembering Tsunade, strutting into my home in all her superior womanly-ness and whisking away my patient.

"You sent your supervisor to kidnap my patient! Didn't think I could handle him, and you knew I wouldn't back down from him, so you sent your boss after me, is that it?"

"No, it's not."

"Lies and slander!"

"Miyu..." I listened to my boss moan as his hand rose to his eyes, taking a split second to massage his eyelids before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do your homework."

With those three little words, my mind went completely blank. All mental productivity seemed to cease; my brain closed shop. My jaw slackened, and I stammered out an unintelligible,

"W-whaa?"

"That's what _you _say when you're frustrated with a blind accusation made against you."

I knew his words to be true, but the gears in my mind ground heavily along, not yet having thoroughly processed the full extent of what he was saying. Instead of staring at him, mouth agape, I urged my tongue to form the question burning on my mind.

"So... so what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that I didn't send Tsunade to doctor Gaara for you. She sent herself."

The thought of maybe apologizing flickered across my jumbled mind. That is, until my brain kick-started itself once again at the realization of the underlying implication, and my blood boiled with rage.

"So you _told _her I was having problems with Gaara! Why in the hell would you do that to me?"

"She's my boss, Miyu. She came to me shortly after you called, and wanted to know what kind of progress you were having with Gaara. She wasn't happy, and was already riding my case over the matter... So what do you expect? Would _you_ lie to me?"

That one was a no-brainer. I answered my boss without hesitation.

"No," I lied.

"Then you see my problem," Kakashi finished, my fib soaring _way _over his head as he lifted his hands into the air.

A sense of finality hung in the atmosphere following his words. I granted myself a moment's hesitation, before drop-kicking that piercing silence out the window.

"So let me get this straight-"

"There's nothing to, "get straight", Miyu," My supervisor interrupted me swiftly. "If we don't pass inspection, then the immediate consequences will fall onto Tsunade's shoulders. And believe me, I know that woman well enough to know that if that happens, she won't make my life easy. And if she's worried enough to take on patients herself, then relations between her and the government must be worse than I'd have thought. The best thing to do... is just to let Tsunade run her course. She will either have a solution in time for inspection and then hand him back to you once everything is settled, or she'll help him completely, and he won't need _anyone's _help anymore."

"The latter _won't _happen," I reassured him with a cynical laugh.

"I know," Kakashi replied with a sigh, his eyes cast to his desk, and ever-present stack of paperwork. "I was merely keeping all options open, regardless of how unlikely they may be."

"Yeah, but there's a _limit_, Kakashi," I pointed out. "What you just said was along the lines of fairy tale stuff. Gaara is more likely to be greeted by a magical fairy godmother who will turn him into a gentleman for a night than he is to wake up one morning with the revelation that he is in fact allowed to be something _other _than an asshole."

"This is true..."

"... Kakashi?"

My boss lifted his gaze once again to meet mine, leaning back into his chair as he folded his hands in his lap.

"Hmm?"

"I knew what to do with him. I finally had him under my thumb. It took me two months to get here. Two months! And it's gone. I was this close!"

I extended my thumb, my index finger hovering over it for emphasis.

"_This _close!"

For the umpteenth time since I'd entered the room, my boss sighed in exasperation. He closed his eyes, and rested his head on the back of his chair. For a moment, I wondered if he was prepping himself for a well-needed nap. And then he spoke.

"So I keep hearing."

* * *

Finding out that Kakashi hadn't gone and sic'd Tsunade on me of his own accord was truly a relief, if only a small one.

But only a little.

Regardless, in the end I had still lost my patient. And it was time to face the bitter truth, no matter how much I hated it. And that truth was that I had _failed_.

The following day, Thursday, rolled around, and I knew the drill before I had even gotten the call from Kakashi.

I flipped the phone open, growling at the small device as I did so. Tossing my messenger bag into the passenger seat of my car, I snapped out an angry greeting to my boss, already well aware of what he was going to say.

"_What_?"

"You're in the office today."

"No shit, Sherlock," I spat out venomously, dropping myself down into the driver's seat.

"Miyune?"

"I'm not a fan of the whole talking while driving thing, so, if you don't mind—"

"You're not a fan of the talking thing in general," My boss pointed out swiftly.

I hesitated, and my fury subsided ever-so slightly… even if only for a moment.

"You know me well," I replied with a glum smile.

"That's going to have to change within the next ten or so minutes, Miyu."

"Says who?" I challenged angrily, my temper spiking once again.

"Says your new entourage here to see you."

I processed the sentence slowly. _Too_ slowly. The first thing I registered was the short chuckle in the background of the phone that didn't belong to Kakashi.

"You have me on speaker," I droned matter-of-factly. "Thanks for letting me know first thing, jackass."

"You're welcome."

"Seriously. I have my own fan base now?"

"More like a following."

I tucked my cell phone into the crook of my neck, lifting my shoulder to hold it in place. With both of my hands now free, I placed them on my steering wheel.

"I'll be there in a moment," I finally concluded, sliding my key into the ignition. "Don't let them leave without an autograph."

I ended the call with my cheek, allowing the cellular device to slide down onto my lap as I shut the car door behind me. As I drove, I tried to deduce who it could have been in the background. The voice had definitely been male, but any further than that… Well, it was hard to decipher a particular voice from one short laugh.

Luckily for me, I lived just on the outskirts of Tokyo, and ten minutes at most from my workplace, so I didn't have to wonder for long.

Jerking the front double doors of the building wide open, I quickly skirted around Sakura and darted for the elevator. I was vaguely aware that my curiosity was gravely misplaced, but it was also rapidly eating away at what many would insist was my already fragile state of mind.

"Hey, where are you going in such a rush?" The pink haired sociologist called, her voice laced with confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be working from home with Gaara?"

My initial thought was to leave her generic question hanging in the air unanswered. As it turned out, however, fate had other plans in mind for me. I stabbed at the elevator button nearly a dozen times in frenzy uncontained, and groaned aloud when the little arrow lit up, indicating that the iron box hovered several floors above me. Casting Sakura a brief glance, she caught my gaze immediately, her green eyes wide and expectant. Shrugging it irritably from my shoulder, I threw my messenger bag to the floor in a three-second tantrum.

"Kakashi says I have fans. I'm on my way up to a photo-shoot," I blurted out.

I had meant for the remark to be highly sarcastic, but apparently my tone of voice had suggested much more sarcasm than was my intention. I watched her face light up immediately in amusement.

"Photo-shoot, huh?" She giggled, as if the idea was absurd.

The more I thought about the context of what I'd said, the more my mind was flooded with unwelcome images of flashing cameras zeroed in on me. And the more I thought of those horrible scenarios, the more I thought to myself…

"_Damn it, Miyune, you retard!"_

"Disregard anything I say," I quickly commanded of her, feeling the blood rush to my face quicker than water if a hole had been punched the Hoover Dam. "I am an idiot. And I lie. A lot."

Her amusement melted away into confusion once again as she contemplated whether or not I was serious. Such a sight never failed to warm my heart.

As if on cue, the elevator doors swung open to whisk me away to the third floor. I hopped aboard wordlessly, scooping my messenger bag from the floor as I did so, and punched the button corresponding with the floor in which I needed to be lifted to.

Unfortunately, my sour mood returned to me quickly as I registered one of the three faces waiting to be graced by my presence.

"Oh, gosh damn it."

"Hello to you, too," He droned, his dark eyes and hostile sneer denoting his _enthusiasm_.

"Office," My boss commanded of me gruffly from the doorway of the room in question.

My eyes scanned the room, and the lack of activity immediately put me on edge. Shikamaru, Clearwater's senior business analyst, who would typically be typing up a storm on some letter, proposition, business process or solution, was now sitting behind his desk with this month's _Official_ _Xbox_ magazine propped up between his loose fingers, but very obviously _sleeping_. Kiba was hard "at work" on Facebook, playing some variation of a mob game, scratching his dog behind its ears with his free hand. Sakura the workaholic, as I already knew, was not here.

Which made me wonder… _"What the hell calmed everyone down so quickly, when we are _this_ close to inspection?"_

I scrambled inside Kakashi's office despite my better judgment.

The second he slammed the door behind me, my boss reprimanded my previous comment geared towards the brunette.

"Watch who it is you're talking to," Kakashi warned me dryly, his eyes harsh and piercing. "That's still the son of the Prime Minister, and the last thing we need right now is a lawsuit."

"I thought I'd gotten rid of you last week," I mused aloud bitterly, ignoring my boss' idle threat, glaring spitefully at the leader of my country's eldest son.

"You took the words from my mouth."

I offered Kakashi a pleading looking, which was received with cruel indifference.

"You couldn't call Temari instead?"

"She's in France at the moment."

The sentence struck me as random and completely out of left field, so it took me a moment to collect my thoughts as my composure fell out from beneath me, as it seemed to have a tendency of oftentimes doing.

"_France_? What the-?"

"Temari is a liaison of Japan, and she is frequently flown out of the country on the grounds of politics."

"And why don't I get this kind of information beforehand? My patient's father being the Prime Minister, his sister having spontaneous flights to random corners of the world…"

"Doesn't directly concern you or your patient's well-being."

"Oh, you mean my ex-patient? The one you leant a hand in having taken from me?"

I regretted the words the second they left my tongue, as they roused a volley of negative reactions from the room's occupants. Kakashi's eyes narrowed into defensive slits, angry with my bold accusation. Kankuro's eyebrows vanished into his hairline, his lips curving into a savvy, taunting smile_._

I already knew the furious reprimanding and patronizing taunts on their lips without a word being spoken.

A slender man stood beside my boss, arms folded across his chest, scowling as if displeased by my very personal confession. I hadn't noticed him before, but suddenly, it seemed appropriate to familiarize myself with him before I came off as an even bigger jerk than I already seemed… especially if he was related to the Hisunas in any shape, way or form.

"Don't think we've met."

"No. We haven't."

His voice was hard and gravelly, his tone not bothering to mask the displeasure he obviously felt, as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. I paused, waiting for him to offer me an introduction. When all my patience was rewarded with was silence, I pressed the man for answers.

"So who are you, then?"

The man's stoic gaze and consistent frown immediately made me think of Gaara's uncle. The one whose hand he had stabbed with a fork. I wondered, was that why he was always frowning? My eyes dropped to his hands in search of confirmation in the form of a scar, but with his hands tucked away in the crook of his arms, folded across his chest, there was nothing that could affirm my suspicions.

"I'm Kankuro and Temari's father."

Clenching my jaw at his words, I permitted my lips to curl back into a slight sneer. Here the man of fable was here, and yet I felt no reverence for him. I felt only cold indifference, because his careless answer made me bristle with a familiar rage.

"… Just Kankuro and Temari… Not Gaara?"

His eyes hardened, making it obvious that I couldn't expect a reply from him again. My gaze flickered to Kankuro in time to watch him roll his eyes as he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"I'm asking you if you are Gaara's father as well… Seeing as how the three of them are siblings and all."

"You are in no position to request anything of me."

No wonder there was so much animosity in this family. I couldn't say that my father was the best in the land, but at least he had still retained the pride over the years to _claim_ me.

I decided to cut my losses with him, and not instigate the Prime Minister of my country, as the voice rattled away in my head about how _bad_ of an idea it would be to do so. For once, I heeded its warning.

"So, the Prime Minister's family was my, "following", Boss-man?"

Kakashi's hard stare was the only response I received. Heaving a sigh, I folded my arms across my chest and resigned myself to whatever fate my country had in mind for me.

I waited… and waited… and _waited_… for a response. From _anyone_. I allowed a soft scoff to slip past my lips in my increasing frustration.

"So… Why are we here?" I inquired impatiently.

My boss' hand went to the nape of his neck, his fingertips slowly moving in circular motions as he formed a miraculous sentence on his tongue.

"They want you to take Gaara back under your wing."

My jaw slackened, my eyes widening in shock as my incredulous gaze fixed itself on Kankuro, who yawned and averted direct eye contact.

"But… why?" I blurted, turning my question back to my supervisor. "I thought they _hated_ me?"

"Well, I certainly don't _love_ you," Came Kankuro's snide remark, his lips curling back into a subtle sneer. "But… I took him out to lunch last night."

To most, that sentence would have had little to no effect. But to _me_, it nearly made my heart stop; partially due to shock, and partially out of sheer glee. I refrained from having a heart attack, however, seeing as how I'd never really held a special place in the hearts of any of the room's occupants. I would have dropped to the floor unconscious, and the most "help" I could expect to receive would be a nonchalant, "Oh, look… I think she's dead."

I pictured Gaara sitting at the same table as the brother he so loathed… and acting semi-_human_.

"_Pass the ketchup, Gaara…"_

With a grunt, the younger would oblige to the elder's request.

"_Thanks."_

Another grunt.

Almost… _civilized_.

But even more exciting than the fact that he was humane was the reason _why_ he was humane.

"And… you think _I_ pacified him?"

"Let's be honest here," Kankuro admitted with a chuckle as he finally permitted his dark eyes to meet mine. "Personally, I think you're a fucking _nut_."

Despite my better judgment, I couldn't help but smile at his insult.

"You aren't the first one to voice as such."

"Yeah, I'll bet. But anyways…"

The grin melted away from his lips, folding his arms across his chest as his expression sobered.

"There's no other explanation. One day, he's absolutely volatile. The next… He calls me and asks if I still like Chipotle."

"_He_ initiated contact with you?"

My brain struggled with this aspect, and it must have shown on my face, because Kankuro threw his head back and laughed at my expense.

"Yeah, I probably had the same stupid look on my face, too, when I got the call from him."

I frowned, a thought almost as equally strange dawning on me.

"Gaara owns a _phone_?"

"No. It came from some restricted number."

"_Lee,"_ Was the first name that came to mind. Gaara had used his phone.

"There was a reason he called you, aside from leisurely, 'catching up'," I began to muse aloud. "Of that I'm positive." I exhaled quickly, my tongue flicking across my lips in an automatic motion. "What did he want from you?"

"You're going to have to ask him that shit yourself," Kankuro replied curtly, his rude tone suggesting his irritation.

I opened my mouth to question him further, only to have him swiftly interrupt me.

"He wouldn't cut to the chase. He told me to tell my father to send Tsunade to hell and to give you back to him. All I was meant to be was the middleman to carry the message."

Suddenly, I completely understood Kankuro's frustration. Most likely, he had never sat down and had a single conversation with his younger brother, ever. And the one time Gaara _wants_ to speak to Kankuro, he doesn't really care how he is faring, just as long as his elder brother is willing make their father pull strings to meet his own selfish desires. Which brought another disturbing truth to my attention.

Kakashi was right about Gaara inexplicably having his eye on me. He had been all along. I squinted my eyes shut, but Kankuro's insouciant answer rattled my brain. I felt the makings of a migraine coming on.

"… _send Tsunade to hell and give you back to him."_

Like Gaara was an angry spoiled child, and I was the delightful toy that had been taken away from him.

"_Give you back to him."_

"Were those his exact words?"

"Hunh?"

"'Tell father to send Tsunade to hell, and give Miyune back to me'."

"Oh, _that_," Kankuro retorted, as if the detail were unimportant. "Technically, his exact words were, "Tell _him_ to get rid of that bitch, send her to hell if he wants, I don't care"… Something like that. And then he said, uh… "I want Miyu back now". Why? What the hell does it matter, anyway?"

I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat. To the Hisunas, I was surely just a female that their psychotic spawn had taken an interest in. Which, judging from their careless, nonchalant attitudes, was something Gaara did frequently. But to Kakashi and me, we understood the underlying threat behind the seemingly innocent pet name. Casting Kakashi a nervous glance, I could tell that he was just as on edge as me, now. His previous slouched, tired disposition was replaced with an alert glare, his jaw clenched in what was obviously fury. Cracking his knuckles, he beat me to the punch of the question lingering on both of our lips.

"And it doesn't strike you as odd that your brother has such an attachment to her?"

"He's done it before," Kankuro replied listlessly, confirming my boss' suspicions… and mine. "He'll possessively latch onto a girl every once in a blue moon. Just until she reminds him that he's still a lunatic, though. Then he'll go back to fantasizing her death… Or whatever the hell goes on in his messed-up head."

Kakashi fell silent once again. Once glance at him, however, informed me that underneath his steeled disposition, he was still seething.

"So… That's why? You want me to continue entertaining your family's Care Bear?"

"Nah," Kankuro corrected me leisurely, waving his hand as he chuckled softly at the mention of the stuffed animal derivative. "We really do think you've done him some good. Before, he wouldn't have called me. He would have found a way to hijack somebody's car, and then drove it through the Kantei's front door. _Drunk_. Swearing, threatening to kill someone. And ready to fight, with some miscellaneous object in his hand that under normal circumstances you wouldn't be threatened by, but in _Gaara's_ hands…"

His voice drifted off, though it remained oddly calm. As if he wasn't bothered by such an elaborate turn of events, hypothetical or otherwise. Possibly because he was no longer intimidated by the thought, because he'd seen it time and time again. I entertained the idea of asking him, but eventually tossed the thought aside.

"… But Gaara was calm. Calm for Gaara, anyways," Kankuro continued, seeming to resurface from the depths of his thoughts. "He struck me as perturbed, but not off-the-wall furious, like is the norm for him anymore. He didn't raise his voice or get physical with me."

He blinked rapidly, his eyes finally refocusing, gazing at me with a sudden interest. It was as if he was seeing the light for the first time when he saw me.

"I… I can't help but wonder what you've done to… _with_ him, I mean…"

"_Irritate the hell out of him,"_ Was the first thought that came to my mind.

Seriously. What made him take such an interest in me, of all people, when all I'd ever done was frustrate him (and myself), to the point that the realization would hit me, "_One_ of us has to die today"?

I decided not to probe the matter further, before I questioned too much, thus landing myself on the bad side of the strong-and-silent type father, and just relish in the fact that I would be able to doctor Gaara once again. Despite my failure, I received a second wind, of sorts.

"I take it that mister Prime Minister here's decision overrides miss Tsunade's."

I already knew the answer. Some fiber inside of me just wanted the satisfaction of hearing it come out of someone else's mouth other than my own.

"Naturally," The Prime Minister in question responded stoically.

"Awesome."

I clapped my hands together. In the minute to follow, the Prime Minister and his son cleared the room. Before leaving, Kankuro thanked Kakashi for his time, and turned to his father.

"I'll be a second. You go on ahead."

His father slipped the hood of his jacket over his head, scowling as he did so, obviously getting the implication his son was trying to make.

"I will be waiting by the elevator. Make this quick, Kankuro."

Nodding to his father, the man left the room. The eldest son turned to me, and pled his case swiftly before joining his father.

"I know we were never really on the right foot to begin with, and for that… I'm… sorry. Yeah. I'm an ass, so I've been told a time or two. I'll try to keep an open mind from here on out. So, if you need somethin'… You know how to get a hold of me."

His words left me with a tingling sensation in my chest long after the man had departed. Perhaps I, too, had misjudged him. Maybe, underneath the layers and layers of disappointment and hurts in his life, he really wanted to share in a part of his little brother's life.

It was the sound of Kakashi clearing his throat that finally brought me from my thoughts.

"So, I see why you brought Kankuro here… but what was the point of dragging their father into this as well? He obviously doesn't give a rat's ass about Gaara."

This was the very first thing I blurted out.

"You noticed that too, huh…"

It was an observation, not a question. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

"My guess… Would be that the father was never much of a father to his children. Kankuro obviously has respect for his father, but it's also fairly simple to see that he holds him at a distance. Like he knows better than to allow his father too much free reign in his life."

"He didn't claim his own son!" I pointed out in aggravation. "I would bet good money that the bastard tormented Gaara. I'd bet he's the reason for much of his own son's problems today."

In his lust for political ascension, he neglected his own family. I wondered, was he satisfied with that? Could he think about his youngest child without having a guilty conscience?

Kakashi leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his abdomen.

"I'm thinking about throwing someone into the mix with you."

"Who?" I demanded instantly.

"An old acquaintance of mine. He went to school with Sakura. Though he was a bit of a delinquent back in his youth, even dropping out of high school at one point, he put his life together. Went back for his GED. He got into fights left and right, so he's naturally quite the wildcard. He now has his own chain of restaurants in Yokohama."

"So… What's an entrepreneur got to do with the price of tea in China?"

"He's more like a chef than an entrepreneur. Besides, it's his personal background in general that counts in this matter, not his occupation. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father a few days after that while serving in the military. He was always made fun of because he had no parents, and no friends. And yet he fought off things like depression and refused to simply lay down to the world's expectations of him. There are still things about him that even I don't know about that he dealt with. Though their pasts seem familiar to me, this young man did exactly the opposite of Gaara. Instead of allowing himself to be _overwhelmed_, he _overcame_. I think he could help you teach Gaara a thing or two."

I didn't like the sound of this. For all I knew, this was one of my boss' asinine schemes to get me to play into his hand. Secondly, I didn't like how Kakashi spoke about this guy in faith, like he trusted him enough to be authorized to touch patients. Clenching my jaw, I blatantly refused.

"I'm not letting some unlicensed chef put his grubby paws on my patient."

"Just trust me with this," Kakashi pressed diligently. "I would never permit the two of them to be left alone without a registered doctor on sight. The guy I have in mind is for sheer… reference. He calls none of the shots. He just talks to Gaara, with you sitting right there. Can you tolerate this?"

Left without any further argument, I quietly, begrudgingly, resigned myself to my supervisor's whim.

"What's this dude's name, then? If he can be at my house tomorrow at two, he can talk away."

With a satisfied smirk, Kakashi plucked his phone from his pocket and began to toy with it, most likely finding the name of this 'friend' of his.

"His name's Naruto. And you three are going to become very good friends."


	11. Chapter Eleven

I've been drawing way too much. Castle Crashers is a nerdy little game. And _Lie to Me_ reminds me strikingly of _House_. That is all.

* * *

"Why does everyone always have to go to hell with you?"

With twitching eyes and nostrils flared in frustration I posed this question. Sunshine blinked at me, as if confused as to why I would ask such a thing. Slowly, his lips turned upwards into one of his infamous crooked grins I so loathed. He replied in a flat, albeit amused tone,

"Because I prefer them there."

Despite myself, I sank back into my chair, a low growl bubbling up in my throat as I pursed my lips firmly.

"What about me? You want me in hell, too?"

"Of course. Why do you think I'm here?"

Rolling my eyes, he softly laughed a low, deep, gravelly laugh.

I had been ecstatic to have another chance at being Gaara's psychiatrist. I called Lee that evening the moment I left work and asked him to drop off the bundle of joy ASAP the next morning. For once, I was wide awake and raring to go the moment I heard my doorbell ring. I barely acknowledged Lee as I happily drank in blue-green eyes rimmed with black, ailments of his insomnia. Ate up porcelain pale skin that only seemed even paler in light of the black clothing he always wore. I even admired, in a disturbing way, the obviously self-inflicted kanji tattoo of love on his forehead. Even the scowl that never left his paper thin lips, except when he was mocking me, was welcome in the wake of my excited smile. The moment that Lee left, however, my plan seemed so much better in my head.

"_Gaara, it's good to—"_

"_Go to hell."_

And there it was. His twisted smile, reserved just for me as he watched my own excitement quickly fade and die from my face.

If Gaara had ever been concerned about never seeing me again, I never would have known had it not been for his elder brother ratting him out.

"Sadist," I spat venomously, my plan having been thwarted by his rudeness.

He made no attempt to shoot a response to me. He knew he needn't do so. His lingering, antagonistic smile was more than enough. Out of sheer spite, I spoke my next words with venomous satisfaction, knowing well that they would strike home.

"We have a visitor dropping by today. He will be here at two. Supposedly."

Gaara's grin flickered as he registered my sentence, before vanishing completely. His eyes narrowed into slits at the mention of an intruder. I smothered the urge to smile maliciously.

"_More_?" Was his disgruntled reply.

I allowed a nervous laugh to surface, knowing full well what he had meant. First, it was Lee. Then came Kakashi. His siblings had crashed our party a few times as well. Tsunade had been the fifth to intervene. Gaara wanted it to be merely him and me. _Alone_. Just like Kakashi had warned me. Yet somehow, I just wasn't flattered.

"Yeah. Another one. But he's just kind of a guest speaker. According to Kakashi, this guy has had a rough childhood, but he came out of it alright. He _had_ to have, if he was bold enough to have caught Kakashi's eye, which is in itself no small feat. My boss thought it would be a good idea to have the guy come and talk to you, so… that's what's going down today."

His eyes narrowed into slits, and if looks could kill, six feet under would be far too shallow.

"Kakashi's idea," I immediately felt compelled to remind him, in case he had begun to form any thoughts that the idea had been my own.

Heaving a sigh, I began an inner debate. Was bringing this topic up really worth wiping the smug grin from his face? I wasn't entirely sure. I really didn't want to have to deal with Rambo today.

"He won't be here long, Gaara."

Then again, if I hadn't notified him of this Naruto kid's appearance, how would he have handled it _then_? More than likely, he would have just sat there on the couch, sulking, taking turns glaring at us alternatively. Which was exactly what he was doing _now_. Sulking and glaring.

Through his frown, he managed to spit out, "Tell them to—"

"To what, Gaara? Go to hell?"

His scowl seemed to set in even further into his skull, his lip curling back over his teeth habitually as it had a tendency of doing.

"Look. I'm not excited about it either. Like I said, it was Kakashi's idea, not mine. Personally, I think that too many cooks spoil the broth. But it wasn't my call. One day, if you ever find your sanity, you'll understand what it means to have to yield to the will of another, who has a collar around your neck and ready whip in the other hand. In the meantime, I'm not going to try and console you over the job my boss has tasked me with."

I dropped my gaze to the digital clock on the stereo, still blinking twelve a.m. Putting off the task that it needed to be set eventually, I turned my attention to a clock that was honest about the time.

A quarter until one.

So I still had an hour and fifteen minutes to kill. Or, rather, an hour and fifteen minutes to stave Gaara off from trying to kill _me_. And that was only assuming that Naruto was on time.

As appealing as sitting and staring blankly at the wall was, I instead mulled over how to approach a potentially fatal issue.

"So how did you like Tsunade?"

At the mention of Lady Turbotits, I had roused several simultaneous reactions from Gaara. His corners of his lips twitched in a fleeting display of contempt, his hands balling themselves into fists, the muscles of his shoulders and arms tensing. I suppressed a fit of giggles bubbling in the back of my throat at the vein I'd struck.

"Pleasant girl?"

"Miserable," He retorted angrily, baring his teeth in malice at me for the umpteenth time.

"What makes you say that?"

As I anticipated, he didn't answer me. Only glared.

"It's because she took you away from me," I answered confidently.

He recoiled instantly. A shudder ran down his spine, and he inhaled sharply as anger washed over his face.

"You're nothing to me."

"I'm a source of entertainment for you."

Sunshine's expression softened slightly, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. His lack of a protest confirmed any suspicion Kakashi or I had.

"Easily replaced," was the obvious explanation he placed on the table.

"That's probably right," I responded honestly, unsurprised by his reply. "But it's an inconvenience to have to find another toy. That's why you fought Tsunade's decision. I heard about how you even went as far as to call Kankuro out to lunch, just so that you could tell him to relay the message to your father. Secondly, since you're such a liability to his renowned reputation, daddy has no option but to oblige to your whim. I'd be willing to bet that he, like your siblings, shit bricks when he heard that you were out of the nuthouse. They worked hard to get you in there and out of the way so that he could run his country without his maniacal son causing a field day for the press. It took me a while to figure out why your siblings weren't happy with me taking you out of there and trying to help you solve your issues, but I finally figured it out."

I chuckled to myself, slapping my hands on my knees as I spoke.

"You hate everybody and their mother. You wanted to be isolated someplace where no one would bother you, even if it meant being labeled criminally insane. And your family wanted you out of the public eye, so that they could live successful lives without the press choke-slamming them at every turn. Although I'm not big into politics, I imagine your father had to play hell to get into the seat of power he's in now with a son like you on the loose. So you see… even if you wanted to get rid of me, your father wants me to stay right where I am. Because with you here, I'm distracting you. Keeping you out of his hair. If he pulled so many strings to get you incorrectly labeled as insane, then just imagine what he'd do to keep you here, when he can get away with this method _legally_."

Gaara set his jaw forward, and I watched warily as his muscles tensed. I expected him to retaliate violently. To yell or scream at me, swearing that I was wrong in my detective sleuthing. Instead, he sat down on the floor in front of me, peering at me through his scraggly bangs. After a drawn out silence on his part, he revealed,

"I don't understand."

"What isn't to understand?" I blurted out, stabbing the air with both of my index fingers, as if it might help me further establish my point. "Was my rant of a monologue not specific enough for you?"

"You've put so much thought into trying to pick apart my family. Why?"

"Because… you're my patient. It's my job to help you."

"Help…"

He spoke the word carefully, as if unsure of its pronunciation.

"Yes, help!" I enunciated slowly, loudly, becoming increasingly more frustrated with his sudden inexplicable innocence. "What the hell do you think I've been trying to do all this time? Play hacky sack with my sanity?"

"If I'm that much trouble to you, then why continue this façade, when you know it's just a game to me?"

"Your well-being might mean playtime to you, but it isn't a game to me! You have some serious problems, but it's nothing I can't help you with, if you'd just cooperate with me! You don't understand that I've dealt with people who have come from roots similar to yours. They never had a nurturing mother, their father could care less, and they were raging alcoholics whom had social problems thanks to their upbringing. The only difference between them and you is that _they_ let me help them!"

"I'm beyond help," He mused aloud morosely.

"That's bull Gaara," I replied firmly.

His glared pierced the brief veil of calmness between us, his lips forming an all-too familiar sneer.

"You know nothing about me. How could you?"

"You're only as beyond my reach as you continue to allow yourself to be. You think your situation is helplessly different, and yes, maybe there are some aspects of your life that are unique. But as long as you keep building this indestructible wall between yourself and the world, you're never going to know what it's like to have those types of memorable relationships."

"It's people that tore me down to what I am. What the hell would I ever want to do with _them_?" He spat angrily.

I could feel my lips part slightly in a moment of shock.

"_Finally… Now we're getting somewhere."_

My point-blank tactics hadn't worked up until now, so if I kept beating around the bush then perhaps, just maybe, a breakthrough was finally within my grasp.

"It's my job to help people. I went through eight years of college for moments like these. But it's a two person job. If both of us aren't into this, then it's all for naught. All of it."

"In case you've forgotten, I was never into this to begin with."

"Why would you hinder the medicine that could potentially heal you?"

"I told you. There's nothing that's capable of helping me!"

"You keep telling me that, but until I see evidence of what you're saying, I don't believe you."

"Are you blind?" He roared.

In one swift motion, sunshine shifted onto his knees. He leaned forward, his fingers digging into the carpet as if for stability.

"You have so many problems yourself, you look like a fool. You say that I'm not beyond help, but what about you? Why don't you take care of your own problems if you're going to preach to me about it? Try delousing your own life before you attempt to help mine."

Most people would have been thoroughly insulted by such bold statements coming from a man like Gaara. But as for me, I merely laughed.

"I know what I need. Being as it's a rare form of medication, I just haven't found it yet."

"And that is?"

I could have chosen to point out that he'd had yet to give me the answers I'd sought from him since day one. Instead, I silently submitted to his inquiry.

The answer sunshine sought was within the memories of my first year's spring on the job. Clearwater Institute paid more attention to the weather than The Groundhog nearing the end of the winter season, partially because they always celebrated their first week of warmer climates with a picnic. Everyone on staff would be assigned a particular food or activity to bring once the day was officially decided. When everyone's name was cleared, vouching that we all had no further work to do for the day, we would all file out to the park, which was also voted on as winter drew to a close. My first year, however, I refused to take part. Kakashi had hung a list of all the employees in the building, and allowed the items to be declared free game to whoever wanted to bring them. As the day drew nearer, however, others began to realize that there was one lonely name that had yet to agree to bring anything at all. Sakura, a brand-new employee whose name I hadn't bothered to even commit to memory at the time, constantly peeked over the walls of the cubicle.

"Miyune, you haven't agreed to bring anything to the picnic yet. Why not?"

Each and every time, I'd simply glare at her, unresponsive. Thoroughly deflated, she'd slink away. It was obvious she was excited about the event, though I just couldn't seem to manage enough compassion to care. Soon enough, however, I began to realize that the entire list was full. The gaping slot that had stuck out like a sore thumb was now filled. I would stop whatever it was I was doing, and glower at the list as I searched for my name.

'_Angel's food cake'_ was the first item to mysteriously be scrawled next to my name. Vigorously, I erased it. More items soon took its place in the days to follow, however. Eventually, I just left the item there. I began to make a quest out of discovering who it was that was filling these items in for me. I would compare the handwriting of the others on the list to the manuscript beside of mine. Though not without my suspicions, I had no means of punishing (legally) the culprit I suspected, so the day of the picnic, before Kakashi took the list down to check that everyone had brought what they had said that they would, I quickly erased the item beside my name. My endeavor wasn't gone unnoticed, however, as a soft sigh escaped the lips of a peer standing directly behind me. I whirled around, face to face with my boss. At this point in time, I hadn't spoken much with him, so he was still the intimidating figure lurking in the shadows of and diluting what I considered successes to me, as he was to most people.

"You have to bring something if you want to go. I'm not allowing freeloaders to attending a business outing."

"Then we both win," I retorted irritably, assuming he was who had written the unspoken obligations in my name. "I don't want to go."

I had originally pinned the blame on Sakura, but as I began to stalk anything she'd written on, I realized that she wrote with far too many 'loops' and 'swirls' to be able to claim that particular handwriting.

"It's a free meal on a nice day with the company of your peers. Why not go?"

I wanted to point out that I saw my peers nearly every day, and that in itself was the problem.

"If you're going to allow me to leave work early, I'd rather just go home."

"Allergies?"

"What?" I asked incredulously, taken back.

"Guess not."

Kakashi stroked his chin as he thought aloud.

"You'd rather go home?"

"Yeah."

"And why is that?"

I bit my lip, forbidding protests to manifest in my voice.

"You know, Miyu," Kakashi said in the wake of my silence. "You're a good psychiatrist. Intelligence and tact are things I highly value in my employees, and you utilize both on a daily basis. You know when you can get away with being bold, and you understand when it's better just to hold your tongue. That's something they don't teach in college courses."

I frowned at him, unsure of where he was going with this. The hand at his chin dropped to his waist, finding his pocket.

"But like everyone else, you're not perfect, and you have a gaping fatal flaw that I just can't look past. You lack the sense of pivot in your life."

My jaw slackened, and my eyes locked onto his as if trying to read him as I'd never bothered to before that point.

"Are you calling me lazy?" I retaliated vehemently.

I would consider myself a number of things. 'Lazy' just didn't come to mind.

"Not lazy. But there's not much to strive for when you don't know what you're striving for. Understand?"

The man spoke in parables, much to my dismay.

"So you're calling me unmotivated."

"Essentially."

Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm sure that if you were to put some effort into the social interactions with others, instead of trying to hide from them, you'd find someone, or something, worthwhile. The day that you find it, if ever, I hope you're still working for me."

In reminiscence, I felt a wry smile creep across my lips.

"According to Kakashi, I have no pivot in my life," I explained to Gaara.

He frowned, confusion washing across his face. Sunshine had been expecting something specific, such as, "_Prozac_". I relished the bemused expression in his eyes, his head cocked to the side as if trying so hard to hear something within the silence, knowing that it wouldn't last.

"No… pivot…" His lips faintly moved in sync with the contours of the syllables he spoke. "But… I thought your motive was to… _help_…?"

I suppressed a grin threatening to brighten my face as he said the word 'help' as if attempting to speak a foreign language.

"It is. But to hear Kakashi say it, he believes that I could be more if I just had more motivation."

I shrugged, as if to nonchalantly suggest that the moment in time was frequently lost in the scheme of my memories. That my boss' words had never really left its mark on my heart, even though that was a lie.

"So just imagine what you could accomplish if you had a pivot of your life. Aside from telling everyone you meet to go to hell, of course. If you're motivated enough to push people away to get your peace and quiet, just think what you could do if that drive were redirected into something at least semi-constructive."

Gaara lifted his head, his eyes focusing intently on the wall to his right. I cast a brief glance to see what had caught his attention, when it suddenly commanded mine.

"It's twenty-one after two," I mused aloud wryly, glaring at the clock, as if was its fault my guest was M.I.A.

My gaze flickered back to Gaara, whose eyes were concentrated on me now. A coy grin slowly spread across his face. Without him having to speak a word, I knew the triumph already budding in his mind.

With a low growl bubbling in my throat, my fingers slid into my pocket, fishing for my cellphone.

Usually it would be on my coffee table, but not today, since I knew better than to leave much of anything lying around when I knew Gaara would be within fifty meters.

I heard the phone ring four times before my call was answered.

"I'm trying to work, Miyu."

"Yeah, and so am I," I retorted spitefully, "if only your buddy would show up for this pow-wow you set me up for, then _I_ could get back to work, too."

I listened to the piercing silence following my statement. Papers rustled softly in the background as Kakashi temporarily relocating the heap of files from in front of the digital clock on his desk, no doubt.

"It's only twenty after two."

"Twenty-two after," I quickly corrected him, my eyes now glued to the clock on my wall as I began watching it like a hawk.

More rustling. Muffled speech as Kakashi placed his hand over the receiver and spoke to someone else.

"Give him a minute."

"He's had twenty two… twenty three minutes."

Static sang to my eardrums as he sighed into the phone.

"Will it make you happy if I call him to see where he is?"

"Not really," I admitted, unabashed.

"I'll call you back as soon as I speak to him."

I snapped the phone shut, my job at successfully harassing my boss completed. Sinking back into my couch, I allowed my head to loll back.

"We haven't heard the last of him," I informed no one in particular, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

"If he doesn't come?"

I groaned, not wanting to face my boss the next day if this were the case.

"Do not tempt the wrath of the great and powerful Oz," I warned him dully, only partially referring to myself.

The first chorus of my ringtone was denied, having swiped up my phone within the first three notes.

"Is he a no-go?"

"He's on his way now."

"Of _course_ he is," I droned. "Where is he now?"

"Just leaving Yokohama," Kakashi replied, a sing-song tune in his voice, as if excited at his comrade's tardiness.

I blanched at the sentence. Yokohama was about twenty-six minutes away, at least, and that was if he took a train. By car, through the traffic on the highways and main roads, however, it would be closer to an hour before he arrived in Tokyo. This wasn't even taking into consideration if he got lost on the way to my house, or needed more specific directions.

"Yokohama… He's just _now_…?"

"Yup."

I clenched my jaw furiously.

"I hate this kid."

"That's Naruto for you."

"What's his number?"

"You're not calling him."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Because," Kakashi explained slowly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, "I'm not going to allow you to flag him down and harass him personally."

"You can't expect me to sit around here and wait forever for the guy to get here."

"Not forever. Just for the next half hour or so."

I brought the phone in front of me, and did the most intelligent, instinctive thing I was capable of concocting in my sadistic mind. At the top of my lungs, I screamed my boss' name.

"_Kakashi_!"

Even Gaara winced, glaring at me as if I'd lost all reason. Vaguely, I heard a female on Kakashi's end inquire to my boss, "Was that Miyune just now?", and my day suddenly seemed complete.

I smiled, gleefully aware that I had more than likely _thoroughly_ pissed my boss off.

"I want to meet him somewhere. I can't just sit here and twiddle my thumbs with Gaara for the next hour."

My plan was met with silence. Not surprising, taking into consideration the immature, smart-assed stunt I'd pulled only a few moments earlier.

"Fine. You call him, and relay his thoughts on the matter to me. Filter me if you must."

"There is no filtering you," Were the last words he grumbled out before the line ended.

I chuckled, and averted my attention to my patient once again. I could only imagine how miffed Kakashi was, if even sunshine continued to glower at me in dismay.

"Oh, you'll get over it, sunshine," I informed him cheerfully. "You always do."


	12. Chapter Twelve

I know it's been forever and a day. I'll apologize, but between college, life in general and writer's block, even this chapter alone was a bit of a stretch. That's my generic excuse, and I'm sticking to it. Hopefully, I can get back into a steady routine of updating this. I'm thinking of putting _Peace Weaver_ on hiatus all together for the time being. At least until I can get back into the routine of updating _one_ story.

For the next few chapters as Naruto is introduced and the relationship between the characters strengthens, the story will be fairly identical as the anime, and the dialogue will coincide accordingly. This is where you should know that I know that you know that I am not Masashi Kishimoto. Kthx.

… That being said, "pop-core" is _totally_ a legitimate music genre. Not to be confused with "pop_corn_". Just sayin'.

* * *

The days leading up to my eighteenth birthday were a celebratory pitfall that I hadn't even been aware that I had become victim of, until disappointment struck. It was the birthday marking the age into adulthood, and up until then, I had assumed that it was a pivotal moment in anyone's life. Looking back, I honestly can't say that I completely understood the logic behind what I was thinking (I won't even go as far as to try and pin the blame on some asinine _Hallmark_ movie this time), but it had me convinced that when I turned eighteen and became a legal adult, I would _blossom_, in every aspect of my life- physically, emotionally, socially, mentally, even intellectually. I thought that I would wake up, and look like a green-eyed Winona Ryder, with all the social graces of a Victorian bachelorette. Of course, I couldn't have been further from the truth.

Instead of rising fluidly from my bed when my alarm screeched, announcing the time, I flailed, and kicked my lamp from its perch on my nightstand. Almost immediate in his response, as if he'd been poised and ready on the other side of my bedroom door, my father pounded his fist against the wooden barrier between us, commanding that I stop throwing things and get up for school. As I sneered at his sarcasm, I retorted aloud my rebellious displeasure at his comment. Softly, I heard him sigh in dismay as he retreated down the hall.

I paused for a moment, before crossing off my mental checklist.

_Social_ _skills_—Still functioning at about a negative twenty-six point three percent, as usual.

As if already sensing my disappointment, I attempted to reassure my mind that the view couldn't be that much of a letdown, slowly coaxing my body from my bed. Once liberated from the sheets, I trudged slowly to my vanity mirror.

Shoulder length brown hair that was neither straight nor curly, but instead a defiant mess somewhere in between the two, reflected back at me. Winona, naturally, was nowhere to be found. I glared at the face that dismayed me so, before turning from it in shame and remorse.

From then on, my frustration only increased as the day progressed. Students and adult figures in my life that had only vaguely recognized me before were supposed to suddenly welcome me with open arms into their cliques and societal coteries, and when that didn't happen, the word 'frustration' was a huge understatement to me.

Upon inquiry, it seemed that even my father was too preoccupied with his medical journals to remember that his only child was now an adult, in the legal sense of the word. He certainly recalled seeing the dent in the bumper of my car, though, as it tattled stories of how I'd struck a light post that morning.

The following year, he congratulated me on a happy seventeenth birthday, his hollow wishes accompanied by a lonely balloon proclaiming the number in question. His plastic smile mocked me in all of my irritation, and though it appeared his blessing was genuine, so was my fury. The moment he held the ribbon of the balloon out to me, a frayed wire finally snapped somewhere in my mind.

Furious, I hurled a pencil at the levitating mass, hoping for it to strike graphite-first and pop the object that ridiculed me. Instead, it rebounded off of its side before dropping to the floor with a pathetic clink. The only purpose my act of violence seemed to serve was arousing the initial shock, and eventual anger in his disposition. In a flurry of reckless abandon, I blurted out how idiotic he was for honestly believing that I was a mere seventeen, when he'd already attended my graduation the year before.

He seemed to be convinced that stress had impaired my judgment, and that I truly was turning seventeen.

I thought he was the most self-righteous ass in the history of the world.

Stroking my thumb delicately across the surface of my phone as I impatiently awaited Kakashi's reply, I couldn't help but wonder how much worse Gaara's interactions with his father were. My father and I weren't exactly BFFs (we hardly scraped through a day without being at each other's throat), but I still turned out alright. So, just what had happened, that this man's entire attitude towards himself and others was irrevocably destroyed?

"_No, not _destroyed_,"_ I had to reprimand myself. _"He isn't beyond repair."_

In my mind's eye, I was on my stomach, lying across the table of the psychiatric ward.

The first day I'd met him.

His hand, tangled instantly within my messy crop of hair. Dragging me across the table. His tongue against my cheek.

The intimidating sneer on his lips as the guards relocated him to his room.

Any normal person would have come to the conclusion that this guy was psychotic. In my mind, however, long before we'd formally (and I use that word lightly—_very_ lightly) met, two words glared out at me, resonating in my mind with the actions that had driven my interactions with him up until this point.

_Challenge accepted._

And a challenge it was. I found myself wanting more than anything to see Gaara off to normality. He was slowly creeping up on being the patient I'd ever attended to the longest, and I was no better off with him than the first day I began this journey. In fact, to be quite honest, I had _backslidden_.

None of his family members seemed to find it necessary to inform me of what I was dealing with in regards to his present and past relationships or circumstances. I could only take a shot in the dark about his childhood, and only observe his immediate present by the actions and words that transpired as I was with him. His siblings informed me that trying to help Gaara was a lost cause, and even my boss, who had always placed the utmost trust in me and my abilities, had voiced his doubts concerning Gaara. Not to mention the fact that I'd lost him once to Tsunade, and it was only by the Prime Minister's saving grace (or, more honestly, his asinine need to satisfy his son's barbaric desires) that I regained the privilege to doctor him once more.

Reminiscences of my recent failures must've been just as depressing to my body as it was to my mind, because my head began to scorn me. That was my punishment for bringing it back to my own attention, no doubt. I closed my eyes, reclining my head against my sofa, and listened to my blood throb in my head.

A few seconds into my rest, and I was suddenly painfully aware of the sneaky bastard that Gaara was. Instinctively, my eyes sprang open, sheer adrenaline pumping through my veins as I expected him to be nowhere in sight. Or strapping C4 to my couch.

Instead, he sat exactly where I last saw him. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he appeared almost… peaceful. Unfortunately, however, I _did_ know better.

"What're you thinking about over there, sunshine?" I heard myself blurting before I could rethink the question.

I expected a glare, or hateful retort. He had become extremely predictable in that respect. As I anticipated, I received both.

"Don't call me that. I hate it."

Despite my better judgment, I allowed an antagonistic grin to spread across my face.

"Good to know, sunshine."

He scowled, and his lips parted, his jack slack, as if about to say something more.

Finally, my phone rang.

I snatched the device up from my lap quickly, flipping the cover open and pressing it to my ear. Any response Gaara had died instantly on his tongue.

"'Bout damn time! What did you do, catch a flick with him in Canada?"

"Hardly."

"Well, quit stalling! What's the verdict, Kakashi?"

"You're meeting him at Ichiraku's. Naruto says it's the only place in downtown Tokyo that he knows the directions to. Know where that is?"

Ichiraku's.

Some hole in the wall in between two other small businesses no one else had ever heard of.

It used to be somewhat of a hotspot when I was in junior high, but nearing the end of my high school career, only a few stragglers remained loyal to the cause of the tiny family-owned ramen shop. I mean, heck, even I couldn't remember the store until Kakashi mentioned the address, and realized that I'd actually grown up down the street from the place.

Not only did this Naruto know of it, it was also the very first place that came to mind when prompted where to meet, meaning he was more than likely one of said devout Ichiraku customers. Which was strange, since he lived in Yokohama.

Gaara and I were instructed to meet Naruto at this restaurant immediately.

But as with all things that seemed too good to be true, there was, of course, a vital catch.

It was true that Yokohama was twenty-six minutes away - not taking into account traffic, of course—but Sunshine and I had to pick up his _bestest_ friend ever.

He made a move to jump into the back seat. I made a buzzing sound as he reached for the handle, causing him to falter out of instinct. His gaze rose to glare at me for my antics.

"Front and center," I corrected him.

Gaara merely continued to glower. He opened the backseat door, standing in the space between the vehicle and the door as if simply to spite me. I bit down on the inside of my cheek at his blatant defiance.

"Ass."

My brash insult was answered with a warped grin.

I resigned myself to allowing him to sit where ever he pleased, sliding into the car behind the wheel. Except for in my seat, of course. With all the DUI's he had collected since his angst-filled teenage years, I surely wasn't going to let him drive my car.

He decided that he liked the view of the back of my head, and sat directly behind me. Accordingly, I adjusted my rearview mirror to target his oh-so smiling face square in the center. Call me crazy, but somehow I was just far more wary of him than the rest of the traffic I'd soon be encountering. Maybe that was why Kakashi had initially been so adamant against me driving with Gaara.

Or maybe it was just that the dude was freaking creepy.

"Click it or ticket, jerkoff."

Despite my derogatory remark, I watched him bring the belt strap across chest as he listened and obeyed. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

"Thank you."

"Shut up."

I nodded, deciding to grant him his one request. The moment I started my engine, I punched the volume button with the knuckle of my index finger, and my vehicle was flooded with music. Backing out of my driveway, I decided to allow the radio to scan the various stations and at least give it a chance to air something worthy of my ears before I yielded to my tried-and-true CDs.

If he was curious as to where I was taking him, he didn't voice it.

All the while, I made sure to keep a close eye on my precious cargo. He sat with his elbow against the window for much of the ride, his palm cradling his chin.

I carefully made a mental note to check for his other hand. I almost expected it to be tying a noose—but no. The other hand lay in his lap, palm up, empty.

It wasn't five minutes into our drive when I noticed Sunshine finally react. His motion was subtle, but not subtle enough to escape the careful watch of my trained eye. The station changed again for the umpteenth time, and the moment he heard the song, I watched as his lips twitched in disgust. I inclined my head needlessly, as if would help me identify the song. I made the connection almost the second I heard his wailing voice trying to do an 80's power ballad scream that he always failed at.

Bon Jovi.

I wasn't a fan of Bon Jovi—at all. In fact, under normal circumstances, I would have changed the station immediately. But if this artist was enough to make Gaara cringe, I would gladly take a hit for the record books.

I didn't know if his apparent distaste could be contributed to passing thoughts or to a vendetta against the pop-core girlie artist. Neither did I care.

My body reacted almost before my mind fully accepted the consequences of my actions, and my hand slammed against the dial, halting the scanning process.

I smiled deviously to myself, peering back into the mirror to see if I had managed to elicit a reaction out of my companion.

If I had, he was smart enough not to give me the satisfaction of knowing. He merely continued to scowl out the window, almost as if trying to set fire to the scenery.

I let Bon Jovi play, if nothing else but for good measure.

I pulled into the driveway of the residency belonging to the third member of our humble three musketeers' gang.

I was surprised to see how close to me Bushy brows lived when Kakashi relayed the directions. He promised me to inform the officer of our arrival, though I was skeptical that the man would be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes time considering the lack of notice. It was possible that he was not even home at all. However, the moment I caught sight of his house up the drive, I also caught sight of Lee, who was presently in a full-blown sprint towards my car.

Out of instinct, my fingers twitched, itching to lock the doors.

I refrained, and instead diverted my attention to analyzing Gaara's reaction to seeing his favoritest friend.

He sniffed, and cracked his knuckles with his chin. Other than that, he refused to gratify Lee with even a fleeting glance of acknowledgement.

Lee pulled open the back passenger door to accompany Gaara, to my relief. I didn't want to be glancing over my shoulder for the next twenty minutes.

"Hello to the both of you! It has been quite some time since I last saw you, Miyune! Life has treated you well, I trust?"

"Yeah. I'm good, I mean. Thanks."

"Good to hear!"

"Yeah."

He was as full of, ah… _youth_ as ever, I guess. Backing out of the driveway, Lee immediately began prattling away how much he was looking forward to seeing Naruto again. Apparently, the two had attended the same high school, and Lee had graduated a year before Naruto. I turned up the volume of the radio, hoping that would relay my disinterest in conversation. Instead, I watched as his eyes lit up, unoffended by my gesture, as if some important revelation had suddenly dawned on him.

"What?" I inquired over the music.

"Is this..?"

He pointed to the ceiling, cocking his head to the side, as if it might help him to hear better.

_The music._

I concentrated on the song now playing, wondering what is was to have caught Lee's attention. A few notes of the intro, and my chest bubbled with laughter. When Bushy brows started belching out the lyrics in the back seat, high-pitched and off-key, I yielded.

_How stereotypical_, I mused to myself, contemplating the irony between the song and the person that Lee was. When the chorus started in, so did I.

"It's the eye of the tiger; it's the thrill of the fight! Risin' up to the challenge of our rival!"

I cast a glance back at Gaara to check if he was clawing his eyes out yet. To see him merely plugging his ears would have given me such gratuitous satisfaction. Unfortunately, he continued to glare out the window.

With the end of the song came the end of conversation, though that didn't mean Lee certainly didn't try otherwise. I quickly changed the dial the moment I heard the first chiming notes to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing".

"I wonder how Naruto's doing; it's been years since I saw him last!"

His musings were met with dead silence. I found a station blaring a song I recognized, though as to where I knew it from…

"It's on the tip of my tongue…"

"I hear he started his own restaurant business! Is that true?"

"Pirates of the Caribbean," I murmured thoughtfully, nodding to myself as I identified the tune. I had the soundtrack back home.

Lee was completely unoffended at my blatant disregard for his inquiry. _Unfortunately_. Because he kept talking. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by his diligence in attempting to create conversation in an environment that was obviously so hostile.

"It is odd that he would start a restaurant chain. He always wanted to do something with more impact. He loved the attention of being in the spotlight. I wonder if he really likes what he does now?"

The officer was asking several questions he knew no one present in the car could answer. I felt compelled to offer him this revelation, but instead opted to go digging.

"More impact?" I questioned over the music.

It'd be much easier to have just _turned the volume down_. But of course, that was far too simple. I grinned at my asinine, ridiculous logic.

"Yes," Lee replied enthusiastically.

He leaned forward, poking his head between the two front seats. I scowled at his proximity, having seen his massive eyebrows slowly emerge from the depths of the back seats.

"He wanted to hold a position of authority, like a politician. Or maybe a rock star."

I snorted, laughter bubbling in the back of my throat, wondering what twisted idea Lee had of "authority figures" if _rock star_ ranked in the top two careers that came to his mind.

"My boss wants _my_ patient to talk to a rock star wannabe gone Rachel Ray. This… there are no words for this."

"Naruto is a man of great character, and very much worthy of your respect," Lee persisted vehemently, his voice scaling in volume. "Please do not insinuate otherwise!"

My eyes flickered instinctively towards to officer, astonished. It was the first time I'd seen him lash out in anger. He sank back into his seat, and the remainder of the car ride passed in awkward silence. Well, silence on Lee's part, anyway. Attempting to touch my stereo was a fight neither man in my car would win.

"_What is it about this kid that has everyone so captivated by him?"_

He commanded my boss' total respect. And he had Lee's as well, I realized, even though the man admitted that he had not seen nor heard from Naruto in years.

Fortunately for me, I didn't have to endure the insult-induced silence for long. My phone rang, and I quickly fished into my pocket for it. Upon seeing the name listed under the caller ID, I stuck my tongue out at the device, childishly spitting out a raspberry. I wiped the spit from my phone with my thumb and answered.

"Haven't you harassed me enough for one day? Like I'm not already venturing into the city on your retarded excursion with a total stranger that could be a total whack-job and you're making me bring Sunshine and Bushy brows out in public, _together_, no less, mind you—"

"Where are you?"

"Where am—the hell kind of question is _that_, Kakashi?" I bit my lip, thinking of the most ridiculous mode of transportation I could conceive.

"Okay, fine. You got me. We're currently flying over the cityscape via hot-air balloon. No, wait—backpacking through Canada on a Light Cycle. Better yet, we left Kansas early this morning by clicking our matching ruby slippers—"

"_Miyune_."

My boss sighed into the receiver, clearly exasperated. The thought of him sitting at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and regretting the day he decided to hire me made me feel all… warm and _fuzzy_ inside.

"Hey, you should've known better. Where do you think I am? I'm in my car, toting around the newest additions to our circus."

"Naruto's already there, Miyu. He called me to ask where you were."

My incessant badgering stopped dead in its tracks, caught in my throat. My gaze flickered to the clock on the stereo. Including the time it had taken me to pick up Lee, we'd been on the road twenty minutes.

"Oh, that's just _peachy_," I bit out sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Y'know, that was the fastest hour I think I've ever had the displeasure of living."

"No one ever said Naruto would take an hour to reach the restaurant," Kakashi replied coolly.

"That wasn't even half an hour. Yokohama isn't exactly a hop, skip and a jump away from Tokyo. There's some degree of commute involved, which he obviously didn't partake in since he apparently encountered virtually no traffic, which I find _very_ hard to believe in the middle of freaking _Tokyo_, and I'm fairly sure driving on sidewalks is illegal."

I paused to inhale sharply after my short rant, catching my breath.

"I'm fairly sure he didn't drive on the sidewalk," My boss responded dryly.

"I'm sure somebody has to be."

"Regardless, you need to get there ASAP, Miyu."

"Hold the phone! It is I who had to haul not just my own ass out of my house, but Gaara and Lee's as well! We're driving to meet him because of _his_ incompetence, and now suddenly _we're_ the ones that are inconveniencing _him_?"

I bristled at the suggestion my boss was relaying, becoming increasingly doubtfully that I would be able to play civilized with Kakashi's pal.

"That isn't the point."

I glared at the road sign as I turned sharply onto the exit ramp, skyscrapers and city billboards plastered on the sides of buildings arching over the hill ahead.

"No, it isn't. Especially since I'll be there in a second anyway."

"Behave yourself," My boss warned me quickly, rushing his statement as if he sensed I was about to end the call.

Which he was right. With a grimace and no word of promise, I shut my phone, slipping it back into my pocket.

The road I hadn't travelled in what seemed like an eternity suddenly crested a wave of solemn sadness over me. I realized that in another block, I could've seen my family home. Where I'd grown up. Where I hadn't been since I moved out and went to college. Where my father still lived, and the reason I was no longer welcome there.

In my daze, I nearly missed the entrance into the restaurant parking lot. I gasped, slamming on my brakes and jerking the steering wheel sharply to the right as I stepped on the accelerator again. I heard Lee grunt as he was thrown against the car door.

Squealing into the nearest vacant spot (the art of finding one wasn't difficult; there were only four other cars in the lot), I shoved the gear into park and cut the engine.

"Well, that was fun," I murmured to myself, allowing a coy grin to play across my lips.

I stepped out of the car, my company following my lead. Lacing my fingers together, I rested my hands on the hood of my car as I addressed the officer.

"Well, you're the only one of us that knows anything about this Naruto character. If you see him, flag him down for us, will you?"

Lee nodded, the seriousness in his eyes conveying his, "challenge accepted" mentality. As if to mock my request, a voice called out from across the parking lot.

"Bushy br-! I mean, Lee! I didn't know you were coming!"

I turned around, not enjoying the prospect of someone sneaking up on me. Jogging towards us was a young man with bright blue eyes and blond hair that stood up in all varying directions. He was clad in khaki shorts and flip-flops, with various bracelets adorning his wrists ranging from thick checkered ones to smaller, plastic rings like you'd see advocating some cure for a disease, but most notably of all was his flamboyant shirt. It was a bright orange button-up with a collar, but it wasn't the Hawaiian-style of the shirt that made even _my_ backwards fashion senses cringe. Small, blue bowls of what I assumed was ramen decorated his shirt. Chopsticks hovered comically over the bowls, fishing out the noodles inside. He'd certainly come to the restaurant dressed for the part.

"Naruto, I presume," I addressed with a mocking smirk. "Glad to finally meet the elusive man himself."

Naruto blinked rapidly as he reached his destination, stopping several feet in front of us, his smile fading as he registered my presence. Our eyes locked, and confusion dawned on his features, as if I'd just called him out in another language.

"Who, me?" He pointed a finger to his chest. "Elusive?"

"No, you're right. You're hardly elusive with that ridiculous shirt."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I'm not dead. _Promise_.

Sorry for not updating in forever; college is a fun walk in the park, and even during my summers it's jam-packed with adventure, ya know?

But I have no intention of abandoning this. Peace Weaver needs rewritten; that story's been forsaken for now, pending revision. I'm just not happy with it.

That said, enjoy this slice of literary fiction.

* * *

In the part of the city where I'd grown up, the police never minded stragglers in the park. After my mother had died, I often remembered loitering until one in the morning or later. I'd sit up in the highest branches of the tallest tree in the park and reminisce about her.

_Why had a kindhearted, gentle woman like her ever married a selfish ass like my father?_

As a child, I'd strongly believed that she'd been cruelly tricked.

I fabricated a scenario in which she was the helpless princess, trapped in the tower. My father had been the charming, but arrogant and conceited prince that had, unfortunately, saved her from her solitude in the clouds, and forced her to marry him to reward his 'selfless' deed.

Obviously, as I grew older, I learned better.

But that didn't mean that I still wasn't confused as to the origins of their union. Both Mom and my father agreed that eleven on a school night was pushing it, especially if only to stay awake for late night cartoons, but my mother would tuck me into bed and kiss me, reminding me with three little words her feelings for me. After she died, my curfew was indefinitely pushed forward to nine p.m. sharp courtesy of my father, who expected me to be home and in bed by then.

One night, I pushed the boundaries of my curfew too far. After lying about going to the movies with the friends I'd never had, I instead dawdled in the park well after sunset. I'd forgotten my phone at home, and I simply didn't have the guts to go back after it. As a result, I lost track of time and my father finally came looking for me. He had a flashlight in one hand, and a cell phone in the other. My father took the phone from his ear and slipped the device into the pocket of his jeans, then cut through the park as he broke into a jog, calling my name, swaying the beam of light back and forth across his line of sight.

It wasn't until he was out of earshot that I realized how fast my twelve-year old heart was hammering in my chest. I clambered down the tree with uncanny speed, flying home as fast as my legs would carry me.

I wasn't fully aware of "bad people" back then. Or rather, I guess it'd be more appropriate to say that I knew they existed, but I still remained in a naïve state of "immunity" where the bad guys couldn't touch me. Bad things happened sometimes, like what happened to my mother, I had reasoned. But it was impossible to happen to me. Never to me.

I'd been such a stupid, selfish child. And that same kid had grown into a slightly less stupid, but equally as selfish adult.

"… and then Sasuke was all like, _'Naruto, you're so cool! Teach me to be as awesome as you!' '_"

Lee's lips turned into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing together in skepticism.

"I did not know Sasuke as well as you did, Naruto, but I find it hard to believe he said anything like that…"

Naruto pouted at the officer's rebuttal, eliciting a knowing smile from the big-browed man. It seemed that the younger man decided to cut his losses, and quickly scrambled to recover.

"D'aww, you just had to be there! Then you'd know! Anyway, it's been so long since I've had Ichiraku ramen! I almost forgot how good it was! Man, it's been a while since I've been to this part of town!"

Naruto giggled to himself, folding his hands behind his head as we walked along in our horizontal row. I sighed, my eyes scanning the park. In all my time away from this place, not much had changed. The tree I'd loved to scale as a kid was still there, dwarfing the rest of the saplings. This place had given me peace of mind in my schools days, but as I walked in line with my reluctant company, that magic had all but died. Either that or my current problems were bigger than a science fair project or a book report.

Technically, my agreement with Kakashi had been that this Naruto guy could talk away all he liked so long as he never laid a finger on Gaara. Sure enough, the only thing this kid had done thus far had been _talk_. And eat.

"So how's Neji been, Lee? I'd heard he'd joined the police task force, too—"

"He decided that investigative work suited him better," Lee replied sourly, as if his emotions were conflicted about the issue.

"I see… Well, I guess I can kind of see that."

Gaara had been walking wordlessly between Lee and me. He'd been a good little sport up until now, but I guess somewhere in his sadistic mind, something finally reminded him that no one was twisting his arm into submission yet.

"This is pathetic."

I groaned, rolling my eyes to his vocal disapproval of our outing. Not that I disagreed with him; for once, I could honestly say that I agreed with him. Which was a frighteningly scary thought on its own.

"It's called the pecking order, Sunshine, and it goes my boss' boss, my boss, me, then you. I've gotta do what I'm told, and I was told to assemble the Three Musketeers and meet this dope." I jerked my thumb in Naruto's direction, who was still chatting absentmindedly with Lee, oblivious to my crude jab. "Besides. It's not like you have anything better to do, being holed up in Lee's basement all day. I _know_ you don't have a hot date waiting back there for you."

My snarky reply earned me a less than favorable glare from my patient. In response to that, I childishly stuck my tongue out at him. Gaara's nose scrunched in distaste, the gears in his head clunking along as he fabricated a rude response to my gesture. The officer, however, beat him to the punch.

"I do not think you should instigate him like that. In our police reports, I have labeled him as unstable many times, and to provoke him is very—"

"Oh, excuse me, Moe Howard," I retorted bitterly, leaning forward to glare at the bowl-cut wonder. "I was under the impression that I was the doctor here. 'Sides. This is an A and B conversation, so see your happy ass—"

"Unstable?"

Naruto's eyes grew wide as saucers as they darted between Lee and the man in question. He pointed at sunshine, who did what he does best, and glared spitefully. "This guy?"

"A regular Sherlock, you are," came my dry response.

I idly wondered if Kakashi had told this man anything at all. Who he was dealing with, _why_ he'd been asked to deal with said person…

Because for all the progress we'd had over the last hour and a half, Kakashi might have well just sent him along to catch up with his old acquaintance, Lee. Naruto blinked, clearly oblivious, before he pointed at the red head, who stared at the offending joint as if he were thinking of biting it. For a sadistic moment, I wished he would.

"So, what's the deal with this guy, anyway?"

I bristled, clicking my jaw in irritation.

This kid had dined with three people. He had walked for nearly half an hour with the very same three people. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, curling my fingers around my cell phone. Would Kakashi be angry if I called him and complained that his blonde friend was a hindrance and annoying?

Probably.

"Gaara's a troubled individual," I began carefully. Kakashi himself had agreed that Naruto was for "sheer reference" only. And I wasn't about to start disclosing the details of Gaara's life and diagnoses to some loud-mouthed, hyperactive cook. "Kakashi suggested I introduce the two of you. Said you might have some helpful hints for getting Gaara back on track in the realm of the normal."

My eyes fell again to the bright orange ramen Hawaiian-style shirt Naruto was wearing, and regretted my previous sentence tremendously. If there was anyone who could set Gaara straight, it certainly wasn't _this_ crackpot.

"Yes," Lee agreed, ever enthusiastic to help, "Miyune was the one who finally got Gaara out of the institute after proving his family had lied about his diagnosis! Before he was released, he attacked several doctors, including Sakura, but it is—"

Lee cried out in shock as I stamped down his foot. Not only had Naruto and Sakura had gone to school together, but from what I'd gathered from Kakashi, the two were still in contact with one another. If the two were close and Naruto learned that Gaara had gone after Sakura, his childhood friend, there was no predicting how the former "yanki" chef might react to the knowledge.

My attempt at preventing a potential conflict, however, came too late. Naruto took a second to absorb Lee's words before his eyes slowly trained themselves on the most volatile member of our squad. His former good humor fell away, and his brows furrowed as his shoulders squared, his stance becoming offensive.

From my own experience as a martial artist, I could tell that Naruto was slipping into "fight-mode". His fists were curled at his sides, his jaw clenched and eyes glazed over with anger. In that instant, I was given a glimpse of the troubled delinquent in Naruto that that existed in his high school years Kakashi had spoken of.

"You hurt Sakura…?"

His voice was softer than it'd been all day as his lips barely moved to form the words he spoke. Neither Lee nor I had time to mend the situation before an all too familiar cruel look flickered across Gaara's expression. I wanted to scream, and then punch the officer square in his stupid bowl-cut face.

"She was annoying, and she wouldn't go away. So I fixed that."

"Don't listen to him, Naruto," I insisted, giving a last ditch effort to dissipate the friction growing between the men. "Sakura was _fine_. She was just startled… and pissed. _Mostly_ pissed."

My words fell upon deaf ears, the static nearly palpable in the air. Gaara's lips quirked upwards, pleased with the recent development of having brought a frown to the face of the bubbly chef. Naruto closed the space between himself and the redhead, whose daft grin widened in anticipation of the confrontation.

I darted between the two men as fast as my body would allow me to move. Lee's reflexes, however, were surprisingly quicker than my own. Naruto shoved violently against Lee's shoulder as he tried to push the policeman out of his way. The officer, to my great shock, remained firmly rooted between the men, refusing to budge against the force of the blonde. He held his hands out at his sides, creating a feeble barricade between the two.

"Naruto, please listen—"

"You guys didn't tell me he attacked Sakura!"

"Not relevant information," I snapped, taking my place next to Lee, effectively creating a wall separating the two.

Naruto growled his dissatisfaction, jumping up to get a good look at Gaara, as if see the redhead might convey his frustration.

"Let him come," Gaara's voice insisted gleefully as if he'd actually thought I'd oblige.

"Not a chance in hell," I replied angrily, shooting him a spiteful look over my shoulder. "Playtime's over. We're going home."

Lee's gaze flickered over to me briefly, before fixating once again on Naruto, as if afraid the cook might try and bolt around him while his attention was diverted.

"Are you sure?"

"When physical confrontation comes into the mix, I'm calling it quits. Our well-being comes before anything else— even Kakashi will agree with me on that."

"Alright."

"Lee! What kind of creep have you gotten involved with?!"

Naruto, however, seemed bent on not letting us musketeers depart from his presence without a fight.

"Naruto, please, you do not understand—"

"What is it I don't understand, bushy brows?!"

At the name, my composure slipped and I snorted, a short bark of laughter escaping my lips. Masking the gesture with my hands, I turn from the pair as their withering stares zeroed in on me. Gaara, who still appeared exhilarated with the confrontation of someone who _might actually hit him_ instead of people who simply threw empty threats in his face, couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Naruto. His shoulders shook suddenly, as if a cold chill had swept over him in this fair, seventy-eight degree weather, the insane smile refusing to leave his face.

And then a thought crossed my mind, subtle and clear, but so loud it might as well have been an atom bomb.

_Maybe you've made a mistake in him. Perhaps there was a reason he was there, in the asylum._

I shook my head, as if the physical action might clear the negativity from my head.

No way would I let Kakashi and Tsunade have this victory.

Lee tried to bid his farewell to Naruto, but the blonde skulked behind us as we walked, following us back to my car. Hands in his pockets as he pouted, he drug his sandals across the grass, making his pursuit apparent even without Lee or I having to glance back to see if he was still tailing us. Even as I ushered Gaara into the back seat with Lee, Naruto continued to hover. My patience with him finally cracked as I rounded on him, slamming the back door shut.

"Go _home_, Naruto."

"I wanna talk to him."

Oh _now_ he wants to talk to Gaara. Before, he'd scarcely acknowledged the redhead's presence. If I'd known that was what it would have taken to get him to address the sociopath, I would've just cut out the middleman and introduced him as "Gaara, the crazy guy that tackled your girlfriend to the floor a couple of months back".

"Ten minutes ago, you didn't know his name. And you weren't interested in talking."

"He attacked Sak—!"

"Yes, I know he took a swing at your buddy. If it makes you feel any better, he's tried to take a piece out of Lee and I several times already. The difference between us and your girlfriend is that we didn't stop trying after that. We still haven't given up on him."

"And look where that's gotten you! You're _babying_ him! Maybe if he got a good trashing, he'd straight—"

"I _don't_ hit my patients," I interrupted him swiftly. "And you don't either. Not on my watch. And I'm not babying him. I'd tell you to ask him yourself if he thinks my treatment of him is "pampering", except you can't. Because I'm not letting you speak to him."

He took a second to mull over my words as he stewed in his rage. His eyes dropped the car behind me, where the captive of our conversation sit. A new resolve seeming to dawn on his mind, he lifted his gaze and said the words that made my stomach flip uneasily.

"I'm calling Kakashi."

Having spoken his threat, he finally departed, heading across his parking lot towards his vehicle.

"Go ahead and run to Mom!" I called after him, shaking my fist in the air in rage that he'd had the audacity to play _that_ card.

I sank into the driver seat, and quickly pulled out of the parking lot, anxious to leave the place far behind. As I sat stopped at a red light, I brought my hands back and slammed my fists against the roof of my car.

"I _knew_ this was a bad idea!" I screamed to no one in particular.

After a pause, Lee cleared his throat and spoke. Before the words had ever formed on his lips, however, I'd already made the irrational decision to disagree with anything and everything he'd say.

"I do not think the trip was a complete waste of time."

"'Course _you_ don't. You got to catch up with an old friend for a spell. Me, well, I say the time could have been spent elsewhere, doing things that, you know, _work_."

"We have been at this for many months now, and have yet to take any steps forward. Nothing we have tried thus far has worked. At some point, we would have to try something different."

_Not working. _

My heart sank uncomfortably low in my chest, my pride wounded. He was right, of course. But I wasn't yet ready to admit my failure.

"I suggest that from here, we—"

"Shut up, Lee."

The traffic light clicked green, and I shifted my foot to the gas pedal.

"But—"

"House rules."

For the remainder of the drive, everything was silent, save for the hum of traffic. Even a glance in my rearview mirror told me that Gaara had forsaken his earlier psychotic glee, and had returned to his usual brooding self, staring out the window with a scowl on his face as if he hoped his foul expression would turn the greenery to ashes beneath his withering stare. Maybe he was angry Naruto hadn't gotten the chance to clobber him after all.

Dropping off Lee and Gaara to their backwater abode, only the policeman offered a word of farewell, which hung in the air unanswered as I returned to my own home.

Upon my return, I dropped my messenger back to the floor, not even bothering to hang it up today. Kicking the door shut behind me, I skulked over to the sofa, where I collapsed. For nearly an hour I surfed the world of television, though nothing in particular caught my interest. Reruns of NCIS I'd watched a thousand times, old horror movies I'd never deign to allow to grace my t.v. screen. I'd only just settled into watching a cartoon show reminiscent of my childhood when my phone rang. Leaning forward, I fished the device from my pocket.

Kakashi's name, unwelcome, graced the caller ID.

Either Naruto had made well on his threat, or my boss was so kindly giving me a follow-up call to see how the meeting had gone.

See as how there was no way Kakashi could have known we'd already gone our separate ways after only a few hours, my fears believed the former.

I ignored the call, setting it on the coffee table to buzz on its lonesome. He left a message, waited a full minute, then called again.

Irate, I sat bolt upright, snatching the phone and throwing it across the room. It struck the Easter rabbit off of its perch, much to my horror, before cracking open the back of the device. The battery clattered against the shelf while the rest of the phone fell to the ground, using my stuffed animal as a cushion for its fall.

Inhaling deeply, I grappled a throw pillow to my chest before bringing it to my face, and screaming.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Aren't you glad you didn't have to wait a year and a half for this update?!

Uber props to **LunaBell08**, **xDarklightx**, and **a** **Wiccan** for reviewing the last post. I really appreciate your feedback, especially if your remarks make me smile like Luna's and Wiccan's did.

* * *

It felt like it'd been forever since my presence had last graced the Clearwater Institute. In reality, it'd only been a little over a week, but time had felt so much longer in my own internal clock. Pushing open the double doors to the building, I opted on taking the stairs opposed to the elevator. For as long as humanly possible, I wanted to prolong my meeting with Kakashi.

Since yesterday evening, the man had called me twelve times, leaving me less-than impressive voicemails a grand total of eight times. I stopped listening to them after the colorful irritated third message he'd left for me to find. I didn't want to talk to him about the epic failure of his plan, but I knew the occasion was inevitable.

Upon my entrance to my floor, the first thing I noticed was the harried nature of the room. As per usual, Sakura the busybody was flitting to and fro across the floor, dipping in and out of the copy room. Kiba seemed to have forsaken smacking his monitor around with his sneakers, sitting at his desk typing away furiously on his keyboard, but a mechanical pencil stuck out of his mouth lead-first as he gnawed on the eraser, so I wasn't positive it was much of an improvement. Inspection was a week away now, so the charged atmosphere was understandable. Second, I noted that the blinds were closed on Kakashi's office window, which in turn caused my heart to sink.

He had a visitor? Tsunade wasn't here again, was she?

God knew I'd come to loathe that woman's presence in any given room.

That development sent me to wait idly at my cubicle, which lead me to my third discovery; a black card sat propped upright on my desk against my computer monitor. On the face of the card, violet typographic swirls spun towards the center of the card, spelling out the words, "You're Invited".

I rolled my shoulder, allowing my messenger bag to drop to the floor at my feet. Seizing the invitation in my hands, I quickly flicked it open to read the contents, taking a swig of chocolate milk from the bottle in my left hand. The standard template of "Where, who, when" was laid out, but what caught my attention was the neat manuscript inside.

_Kankuro's Birthday Celebration._

I tilted my head back and snorted, gurgling on my Nesquik as I began to choke.

I'd never received an 'official' invitation to any birthday anything in my life. This was a first for me, and it was an invitation to the birthday festivities of someone I didn't even really know, and for someone who didn't even really like me to begin with. And since the lawsuit against them on Gaara's behalf had already been filed, he probably liked me even less. So, why was the invitation extended to _me_, whose very existence had only ever brought them trouble? Why hadn't they phoned me, and invited me themselves? The morbid percentage of my personality whispered nastily in my ear, claiming this whole farce was a trap.

How had this gotten in here, anyway? I doubted Kankuro himself strolled up in here to try and hand-deliver this card to me personally.

As if on cue, Shikamaru's ponytail made its presence known, cresting over the walls of my cubicle as he spoke.

"I dropped it off for Temari."

"You know the Hisunas?"

"I know Temari and Kankuro," he corrected tiredly, his voice muffled as he yawned. "She's such a drag, but she insisted that since I was coming to work here anyway, I might as well take the invitation with me."

His hair dropped back down out of my line of sight, and I heard the telltale roll of the wheels on his chair as he sat, pushing himself back to his desk. Squeezing my eyes shut, I slowly settled into my chair as I chanced the question and asked,

"Does… does she talk about me?"

"You've taken their entire _family_ by storm. First, you insist that the brother they've written off as insane is able to be saved. Then, you are the dynamite that triggers an internal war not only among their family due to the prosecutions you brought on them, but a slew of media complications because of that lawsuit. There isn't a relative of theirs that doesn't know your name."

_Oh_. I was afraid of that. I had hoped that my name wouldn't be mentioned after the lawsuit, but I suppose when you start a fire as large as the one that was currently brewing among the family of the Prime Minister, questions get asked, and your name becomes known. So my initial assumption that she talked about me had been correct. Or, I guess it's more appropriate to say that she curses my very name. Which once again brought the question to mind, why invite me, who wrought so much trouble on their lives?

"… I don't understand why they'd invite _me_," I confided softly as I reopened my eyes, fears confirmed, leaning into the wall adjacent to Shikamaru's nook. "They've voiced their contempt for me before the lawsuit was even filed. Now, the whole _country_ is looking at their family beneath a magnifying glass. If they hated me before, I don't know words to describe their feelings now."

Chair wheels reeled backwards as Shikamaru pushed off from his desk, rolling around the corner to meet my troubled gaze.

"She doesn't hate you, if that's what you're getting at."

My face fell, betraying my disbelief at the revelation.

"But… I don't see why she wouldn't. By all means, she _should_ hate me. Her personal life is under public scrutiny because of what I've done. The same goes for Kankuro."

My co-worker held up an index finger, a small knowing smile lighting up his features.

"The media has _always_ stuck their grubby fingers into the lives of the Hisunas, ever since Kazehiko took office. It's no different than the usual scandal they try to find with their dysfunctional relatives. They're just asking different questions now. If you think this whole ordeal is the cataclysm for them," he waved his index finger in circles as if to elaborate on his point, "then you're giving yourself far more credit than you deserve. I can't speak for their father, or the relatives that have never liked their kin's faces splashed on the front page of some gossip column, but it's whatever."

A genuine smile tugged at my lips, a terrible weight lifted from my shoulders at his words.

"Thanks, Shikamaru."

With a lazy, "yeah" and a yawn, he rolled himself back to his own premises. The major inconvenience settled, I launched myself into the second most pressing matter weighing on my mind.

"They're, uh… upper class, aren't they?" I ventured, already knowing the answer.

"You could say that," Shikamaru's cynical response came, snickering with his answer.

I dialed my voice back to a murmur, gaze dropping to the laces of my shoes. The invitation had declared that the celebration would be held at an address downtown Tokyo, which was most likely Kankuro's home.

"What kind of parties do these guys usually set up?"

"Well, Kankuro's a drinker. So don't wear anything _too_ nice."

"… Is somebody going to throw up on my shoes?"

"It's a definite possibility."

With a groan, I hauled myself up from my chair.

"I _really_ don't want to go to this thing."

"Then don't. Not like anyone's twisting your arm, or anything. People usually go to these things in pairs or groups, anyway."

At this knowledge, I could feel my heart skip a beat in panic.

"Well… I was actually thinking that I may go for half an hour or so, but… they're not, um… they don't _actually_ expect me to bring, ya know… a… a _date_ with me… do they?"

His dry peel of laughter sounded almost as amused as I was appalled at the idea of me finding companionship to this whole undertaking.

"Temari seems to think so," he responded dryly, and I got the feeling that he knew from personal experience.

_Damn_.

I brought my hands to my face, using my index fingers to press at the caruncle of my eyes, effectively pinching my lids shut.

"I'm assuming you're going, too."

"Unfortunately, I _have_ to. If I didn't, Temari would never let me hear the end of it."

"You, ah… don't have anyone you're going with already, do you?"

There was a moment of silence as we both sat, dumbfounded by my audacity.

"Don't read too much into that," I amended swiftly before he got any ideas that I'd been harboring some secret crush for him. "If I have to go with anyone, I'd prefer it'd be you."

He sighed, grumbling something under his breath before he finally admitted, "It's troublesome, but I'm _Temari's_ date."

_Oh_.

That shed much needed light on why he knew so much about Temari and her family.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I sighed, dropping my hands as I slouched back against my chair. Pivoting my feet, I turned my seat and spun myself in circles. "The gravity of the situation isn't great. I'll probably talk to Kiba and—"

"Kiba's a good friend of Kankuro's," Shikamaru informed me, once again bringing it to my attention how tragically out of the loop I was when it came to the lives of the people around me. "He's already going with his girlfriend."

"Kiba has a girlfriend?"

Something in my mind had reassured me that I wasn't the only one who found Kiba to be a short tempered, loud mouthed ruffian even outside the boundaries of the workplace. To know that even he had a girlfriend both discouraged me, and amused me greatly.

"Who's the chick? Undoubtedly she's deaf and dumb, right?" I guffawed with a roll of my eyes and a snort.

To my delight, my crude remark elicited a chortle even from the slacker.

"Don't know her. Kiba's not the kind of guy I hang around outside of the workplace, if you catch my drift."

"Fair enough," I submitted.

Kiba's obnoxious personality wasn't the type of character I surrounded myself with either, so I understood Shikamaru's sentiments concerning our rambunctious colleague. Then again, as of late, the only real people I associated myself with included a raging sociopath, one hyperactive policeman and my eccentric boss.

Once again, I couldn't help the sinking of my heart at my substantial lack of a social circle. I silently chided myself, knowing full well that it wasn't any longer a fact that should've taken me by surprise.

"Never mind asking Kiba, then. I'll go alone. Maybe I'll be so cool, I'll start my own clique."

Before I had the chance to duck for cover or otherwise prepare myself, Kakashi's office door swung open. He stood in the doorway, overseeing the chaos on his floor with arms folded across his chest. The moment he spotted me, however, his gaze hardened as he pursed his lips, and I knew in that moment I was in some waist-deep shit.

My only defense was a sheepish grin and a coy flutter of my fingers in greeting.

Kakashi rose his right hand, curling his index finger in a "come hither" gesture. Scooping my bag from the floor, I slipped the invitation into the front pocket as I quietly obeyed my boss' silent command. My feet barely through the doorway, he slammed the door shut as he rounded on me with an accusatory glare.

"I've called you several times since yesterday evening," he chided briskly, wasting no time in launching himself into his tirade.

With a roll of my eyes, I passed by him, collapsing into the chair opposing his office seat.

"I know."

"Of course you knew. What I want to know is why you were deliberately ignoring me."

"I knew it was about the debacle with Naruto, and I really didn't want to talk about it."

"Will you talk about it _now_?"

"If I wasn't ready to do so, I would've just stayed at home and continued ignoring your calls," I admitted with a shrug.

"Then spill."

Kakashi took his own seat, folding his hands in front of his mouth as he leaned forward attentively.

"I'm not sure I have the same faith in him that you do. I mean, to be completely honest with you Kakashi—"

"Let me guess," My boss quickly intervened as his lips twitched into the semblance of a grin, something I hadn't expected to cross his face in light of his sour mood. "Your first impression of him was that he was an idiot. He's all talk, and no action."

"Well… _yeah_."

"Naruto's always been a bit on the obnoxious side. But he doesn't lash out without provocation."

Kakashi stared at me deliberately, the smile slipping from his face. I could easily read what my boss wanted from me; he waited for me to continue, to explain exactly what had set Naruto off.

And judging from how quickly his entire demeanor had slipped back into Godfather mode as he stared at me expectantly, my guess was that he already had a pretty good idea.

Freakin' Naruto and his big mouth.

"Gaara… intentionally said something he shouldn't have in order to irritate Naruto."

"Which was?"

"He told him he attacked Sakura."

"And how did Naruto react to this knowledge?"

"I think you already know that," I droned sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.

"Elaborate."

"What, Naruto _didn't_?"

"I'm not talking to Naruto right now," Kakashi snapped, lowering his hands to the desk.

He snatched up a pencil, rolling the writing tool between his index and forefinger as he glowered at me.

"Answer the question."

"My initial analysis of him was that because he _wanted_ to be in the ward, it meant he didn't really belong there. So many people feign psychosis to get locked away when they don't know what's wrong with them, or when they've suffered some tragedy, whether mental or physical… I based all of my theories of him according to that idea."

I twiddled my thumbs in my lap, watching the fingers with increasing interest as I felt Kakashi's stare boring into me.

"And since then, what have you decided?"

Inhaling deeply, my fingers stopped. I leaned back, tracing circles in my thigh with my index finger.

"That I was wrong."

Lifting my gaze to meet my boss' he stared back at me, expectant.

He really wasn't about to let this drop quietly, I quickly realized with a sigh.

"I don't know what else you want me to say, Kakashi," I lied.

His next sentence, however, threw me off my mental track of anticipating my boss' next words.

"Really? How about starting with why you insist on keeping Gaara as a patient, even though I've told you before to let it go."

"What the hell!" I exploded, rising to my feet. My fists curled at my sides, barely containing the rage that had overtaken me so quickly. "You're really going to press _that_ issue again? I thought we went over this!"

"I stand by what I told you the last time we had this conversation."

"Why are you bringing this up again?!"

"Naruto agrees with what I said before. He thinks Gaara is a totally different breed of people. You can't reach him."

"That blonde twerp doesn't know me, and he doesn't know Gaara! I've got this under control! I've made progress with him, for sure, so why are you taking his word over mine?!"

Like the pro he was, Kakashi endured my rant with utmost patience before retaliating.

"Because Naruto is a far better judge of character than you are, and the fact that he agrees with my assessment further establishes my point. You've already admitted that you were wrong. Is it that hard to believe that you could perhaps be wrong about everything else you've ever thought to know about Gaara?"

His inquiry was a valid point I myself had already contemplated, but had yet to accept.

"Is control something you really have over this relationship? Tell me how you've progressed over the past few months."

My mind thought back on the first day I'd ever had Gaara in my home. How he manipulated me into leaving him alone long enough to shut off my power on me. And since then, no matter how hard I pushed and pulled, he was consistently a thousand miles away from me. He didn't want to be helped, because he believed he was beyond help. Like everyone else in his life, he'd given up hope in himself.

I certainly hadn't felt like I'd been in control then, especially not when he found me.

Honestly, it had been a long time since I'd been _that_ scared.

No… I didn't have control. But I _did_ still have pride.

"I've only just begun to scratch the surface. I just need more time."

"Sorry. Time's the one thing I can't afford right now. I have one week to show that progress has been made with Gaara. Miyune, some people can't be reasoned with. You can't sit them down and win them to your side over a cup of coffee. Some men just want to watch the world burn. I had a hunch Gaara was one of those people. Naruto's testimony affirmed that."

"So, what then?" I demanded, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. "Will you give him to Tsunade again?"

"You're clearly not listening to me. There's _no one_ who can help a man like him."

"I don't believe that."

"Then _don't_," Kakashi replied flatly, "but I'm not letting Gaara tie all of your time up any longer. Come tomorrow morning, you come back to the office during normal hours."

I threw up my hands, kicking the leg of the chair in my tantrum.

"Oh, well, this bullshit smells familiar."

"It should."

"You can't control what I do in my own time after work."

My statement hung in the air like a threat. With a sigh, Kakashi reclined in his chair.

"I know this. And if you actually do manage to make any _real_ progress, let me know. Tsunade will be thrilled."

I bristled at his response, seizing my bag off the floor as I turned on heel to leave.

"One more thing."

Making no attempt to mask my displeasure, I stomped my left foot down once, throwing back my head as I growled aloud my annoyance.

"Stop that," Kakashi barked, none too pleased with my display. "I want to talk to you about Kankuro's birthday invitation."

My body froze for a second, stunned. Slowly, I turned back around to face the man, contemplating the possibilities of him having ESP.

"How… did you know about that?"

"It was sitting on your desk. I saw Shikamaru leave it this morning when he got here."

"But how'd you know it was from Kankuro? And that it was a birthday invitation?"

"I snuck a peek earlier."

My jaw dropped and I summed up the most aghast expression I could manage. The glint sparking in Kakashi's eyes informed me that I'd done well.

"What the hell! Why're you looking at my stuff?!"

"It wasn't sealed," Kakashi retorted haughtily, as if that fact excused everything. "I don't believe a co-worker has ever invited you to anything outside of the workplace, so I was curious."

"Shikamaru offered to buy me McDonald's once," I snapped back in offense.

My supervisor snorted, obviously charmed by my snarky outrage.

"Well, I stand corrected, then. Good for you."

"Damn straight you do."

Kakashi suddenly straightened his back, the seriousness of our previous conversation returning to his gaze as he slid back into business mode.

"The birthday gathering. Take Lee with you."

"_Nnnooo_," I moaned tragically, my face falling scarcely before the instructions had left his mouth. "I'd rather not even go at all than have bushy brows accompany—"

"Although technically Gaara is off the radar for you now, this is still a good opportunity to gather information from his family pertaining the Kankuro and Temari themselves, information that the siblings themselves might not be as willing to disclose. We still need a report on the two of them before we can close this since they were loosely connected to your initial investigation, and so does Lee. It's simply a scenario of two birds and one stone, Miyu."

Glaring at him, I huffed as I folded my arms across my chest stubbornly. Kakashi arched a silver brow at my tantrum, patiently waiting for my attitude to subside when I finally caved like we both knew I eventually would. Obstinately, I quickly flicked out my hand, scattering a small stack of papers to the floor before returning his expectant stare. He sighed, gaze dropping to the documents now strewn across his rug.

"Are you going to pick those up?" He asked, pointing to the papers in question.

"That depends."

"On?"

"Do I have to drag Lee along?"

"Yes."

"Then no."

With pursed lips, Kakashi shot me a final glare before sliding from the comfort of his chair and onto his knees. As he began to shuffle to paperwork together, I took the opportunity to make my retreat.

"If you're going to insist on continuing to doctor Gaara, be aware of what Naruto and I have said. Just be careful, Miyu."

"He's not crazy," I insisted from the doorway, although it felt like I was only saying it aloud for my benefit.

Boss Man chose not to comment on the matter, anyway.

"You need to contact Lee to set up a time to meet him."

"You're killing me Smalls!" I cried in dismay as I took a step further into the outer office area, drawing curious looks from several employees.

"You need the report on Kankuro and Temari. If you go without Lee, you're just getting him in trouble with his superiors. He wasn't invited to this party, but he needs an opportunity to meet them for his own reports. And if his boss contacts me wanting to know why I botched possibly their only chance for them to meet without explicitly saying, "I need to write a file on you two concerning Gaara's false admission into a psychiatric ward for our police records" simply because you didn't want to go with him, I swear, I'll make you wish I had fired you instead."

"Yeesh," I recoiled, wincing in mock agony as I flashed him a coy smile over my shoulder, "those are some tough words for someone who can't back them up."

"I'll send Naruto to your house at two in the morning. On the weekend. With his guitar."

"Naruto plays guitar?"

"No, but he's always wanted to learn."

The smile fell from my face instantly, and I frowned.

"Holy shit, boss, you aren't kidding."

"Never."

"It takes a special kind of evil to do something like that. You're kidding, right?"

When silence was my only reply, I knew I had to fold before Kakashi schemed something worse than Naruto in my house at the butt-crack of dawn with obnoxious instruments.

"Fine, I concede defeat. I'll get a hold of Lee."

With a smile and a nod, the Godfather left, and Kakashi was placated for the moment.

"I knew you'd see it my way."

"You're the worst kind of evil."

"Glad we had this conversation."

"I suppose someone had to be," I grumbled. "Can I leave now?"

"Yes. Enjoy your last day of freedom."

"Enjoy yours as well, since I'm your full-time problem again tomorrow," I retorted morbidly.

One glance over my shoulder revelaed Kakashi shaking his head as he ran a hand through his crop of silver hair, murmuring,

"You don't have to be here to be a full-time problem for me, Miyu."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

A quick moment to say thanks to the beautiful people who reviewed the last chapter, including a one **CrystalKat14**, **heart chan**, **a Wiccan**, **TheGirlWithNoIQ**, **TastyG**,** LunaBell08** and a lovely anon dubbing themselves **Insanity**. Thank you for sticking with me through the hiatus and having faith despite my extended absence. Not to pick favorites among my favorites, but a special kudos needs to be extended to TastyG and LunaBell08 for their inspiring words that quite literally left me in awe at my computer. For a person who schemes to make it through life as an artist and author, the greatest gifts you can give them are not material, but rather your time, attention and support, to which you guys have given me all three. And the most wonderful praise you can offer is saying that I need to sit down and write my own book, which was never expected at all, least of all from a fan fiction site with readers I've never once met in my life. You want to talk about giving someone confidence and encouragement that maybe they really can do what they've always dreamed of doing.

So seriously. All of my love. Take it.

In reply to my lovely anon Insanity's plea; there are very good reasons I can't have Miyu ditch Lee and take Gaara with her to Kankuro's birthday bash. To name a couple, do you think he would _actually_ go? He hates his family and any interactions with them. His presence would create an uproar among the family anyway. Secondly, I'd still be getting Miyu in trouble with Kakashi for not taking Lee, which is opening a can of worms I really don't want to touch. Not that she has an aversion to causing trouble with her boss; rather, she just doesn't want Naruto coming around her place. As fun as it would be writing that in, just… no. Thank you for your input, though, I hope you understand why it isn't something I can feasibly do.

Having said all of this, let's move along.

* * *

Over the last few years since I'd been working at Clearwater Institute, I thought that despite the chaos and headache that came along with being employed beneath Kakashi, I'd finally found peace with myself and my life. I'd thought that I was invincible, untouchable; everyone looked to me to solve the worst of cases, and to pull it off with aplomb, even Kakashi. The series of events developing over the last few months, however, had trashed all of that complacency, and left my reservoir of confidence barren.

Three days had passed since I'd returned to work as normal. In those three days, I realized that my failure with Gaara had filled me with so much doubt in myself and my skills, to the point that I'd botched two assignments with patients and forgotten to write a report on one of them. Or perhaps, the case with Gaara hadn't made me doubt myself, but rather returned my arrogant sense of self-worth back to what I truly was at my core; pathetic.

Regardless of the cause, as a result of my failure my boss, the closest semblance I'd ever had of friendship with anyone, had lost a significant amount of trust in me. When I admitted the reasoning behind why I hadn't written a report detailing the ailments of my most recent patient was because I'd forgotten, the pen in Kakashi's hand tumbled from his fingers onto his lap and he stared at me with a rare deer-in-the-headlights look as he searched my guilty expression. He was silent, but I knew what he'd been thinking.

I'd bitten down on my bottom lip and dropped my gaze, instantly ashamed. He and I both knew that I didn't just "forget". I had a fantastic memory, and I'd never simply _forgotten_ to do something pertaining to my livelihood.

"Just… make sure you get it done, then, Miyune."

When I failed to answer him, he prompted my attention, flicking his pen irritably against the corner of his desk.

"…Right. I heard you."

"Miyune," my supervisor called as I took a step backwards.

I grunted my acknowledgement at him, the only sound I could seem to make in my shamed state.

"Give it up on Gaara."

I paused, and reflected on the lack of argumentative remarks that arose in me. Perhaps I was dispirited. Or maybe I'd finally figured out that Kakashi was right.

A failure such as myself could never even hope to reach Gaara in his personal darkness.

Kakashi had known this, and perhaps it was time that I recognized the truth of the matter as well. As I struggled to find my voice, I submitted.

"… Only if he says he's done."

I expected a rude comment to be thrown, or at the very least some form of approval as I finally relented in the age-old argument. Kakashi said nothing else as his onyx stare dropped once more, dismissing me with his silence as he proceeded to ignore me and went back to the ever-present stack of paperwork filing on his desk.

I left his office, an unfamiliar ache blossoming in my chest as the realization occurred to me that just like everyone else, now I, too, was a subject of disappointment to him.

Two days ago had been the last time I'd seen Gaara. The familiar glint of malice sparked in his eyes when he saw me, before he smiled his twisted grin and asked me how Naruto was. Ignoring the instigative question, I offered him a glass of chocolate milk. With a scowl, he wordlessly declined as I'd already assumed he would. Instead, he stretched out on my couch and folded his hands behind his head, throwing me a pointed glare as if he expected me to challenge his action. That day, however, I refused to allow the man to elicit a rise out of me and I chose instead to sip from my own glass.

"You're quiet today."

At first, the statement took me off guard. I searched his face for any sign of emotion, feeling my confusion mount as I found none, not even his typical anger. With pursed lips I set my drink on the coffee table separating us.

"My superiors think it's best if I don't doctor you anymore."

At this, his eyes narrowed, but he otherwise remained silent.

"They insist that it's past crunch time, and they need to cut their losses with you and take me back into the office full-time. They need me more there."

"So you're going to quit after all," He mused aloud, fixing his gaze on the mantle where my pink stuffed rabbit once sat. "In the end, you're just like everyone else."

"I never said I was quitting on you," I retaliated angrily, folding my arms firmly across my chest. "But you aren't exactly leaving any other options open for us, either. We have our government inspection in less than a week, and you've become a liability because you're tying up my time. So we either deal with you quickly and gain massive kudos for handling the Prime Minister's wayward problem child, or we cut you loose and suffer no losses on your account. Kakashi's decided that cutting our losses and getting me out now would be best. So, we're going to have to change our meeting time since I'm going back to the nine-to-five grind."

"If you're making compromises with your idiot boss, then you've admitted you can't help me on his terms, which is the same as admitting you've lost the game. Continuing it any further than this… the game's become boring."

I physically flinched at his words, a wave of confusion washing over me again.

"W… what?"

"It's only fun if you have something at stake," Gaara revealed carefully, as if explaining the rules for a complex game.

In a sick way, I suppose he was.

"You were so pressed for time because of your inspection, and your pride owns you. It still does. That's why you never could leave me alone. I had to deal with you somehow, and then you said you wanted to play a game. So I decided to create one for us."

My mind backtracked to the first day Gaara had come here, to my home. I had proposed the game of "Let's be friends".

I couldn't help the wry smile that crossed my lips at the memory, and the disgusted reaction Gaara'd had to the idea.

In the end, the twisted game Gaara had kept mentioning that he was playing had been inspired by me. The irony was far from lost on me.

"So, your company is officially finished meddling in my life, is that right?"

"Yeah," I admitted with a sheepish grin. "I suppose it _is_ over."

"Then so is this game."

The smile fell from my face, betraying the distress I truly felt underneath with his words.

"Wait. So you're done, simply because they say they are?"

"Why continue this farce? As far I'm concerned, I've won this little game of ours and I never wanted any of this anyway, in case you've forgotten."

"I'm trying to help you here, in case _you've_ forgotten!" I cried at him, stabbing at the air in his vicinity with my finger.

"I wanted solitude," Gaara reminded me as he sat up bolt right, sweeping his legs over the side of the couch. "If someone has to entertain me, I'd rather it be you. But if they are finally going to leave me alone, no Tsunade, no Kakashi, not even _you_… Then you are no longer of any use to me."

"_He's regressing,"_ I mused, horrified as I took a hesitant step away from him. _"We're back at square one."_

"Hello, Gaara. My name is Miyune," I recited beneath my breath.

I watched as Gaara cocked his head, leaning forward as he strained to hear what I was whispering as if he was afraid to miss a single insult I uttered towards him.

I couldn't help it if he'd backslidden to the beginning of the process. If he was regressing back to stage one, so could I. At this point in the relationship, perhaps returning to the beginning and trying to go in a different direction wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

"Nice weather we're having today, don't you think?"

I wouldn't ask him that aloud. He got angry when I asked him the first time we'd met, saying he didn't like stupid questions.

"_He doesn't like many things."_

He likes Kit-Kats, though, as I recalled how he'd mauled the bite-sized candy bar when we'd first met. An idea occurred to me, and I retreated to my kitchen in pursuit of the cupboard housing the bag of snack-sized chocolates I fed to my patients. Fishing through its contents for Kit-Kats, I counted out five before I stashed the stockpile back into the cabinet.

"Here," I offered as I circled back around to the front of the couch. Wasting no time in offering the candies, I shoved one of the chocolates into his hands.

Flabbergasted, he had no choice but to accept it with wide, confused eyes.

"… What is this for?"

"You like them, right? I remember you preferred them to the Almond Joy."

"So?"

His gaze lifted from the candy, hardening as he rested his angry eyes on me, as if infuriated that I'd recalled such a trivial detail.

"You're _not_ crazy!" I bellowed as I pelted him triumphantly with another of the chocolates.

Shocked, he quickly brought his arms up to defend himself from my assault. The Kit-Kat bounced off his forearm and fell to the carpet.

"If you were truly suffering from psychosis like your family claims, your regression would have been total and complete when you decided to go back to square one just a moment ago. Instead, your mentality retains the ability to still see things- _me_- with your present perception. People with psychosis can't recall past events and utilize them in the present tense without slipping back into their previous frame of mind. They are delusional and possess unfounded fear and suspicion. And while I agree with the whole delusion idea when talking about you, you're not psychotic. Hell, Kakashi is delusional at times. So am I. Doesn't mean we're psychotic."

"I'm not _regressing_ back to anything," Gaara snarled in dissent, obviously displeased with my diagnosis. "I just don't like you."

"And of that I have no doubt. I'm not exactly a fan of yours, either. But that's not the point. The point here is that I want to help you. After all this time, your family might have written you off, Kakashi might say that you're a lost cause, but I don't believe that for a moment. It's total bullshit."

"And you're a total fool."

"Quiet!" Shrieking a battle cry, I hurled another chocolate at Gaara. He tucked his chin into his chest in the nick of time to avoid being struck in the face, and the candy rebounded off the top of his head. "I'm trying to tell you that you have an ally! That you don't have to be alone!"

"I don't need disappointments such as "allies". I do fine on my own."

"_Clearly_," I droned sarcastically with a roll of my eyes. "The solitude has done you so much good in your life thus far."

"It's more than I can say for you, stupid bastard," Gaara spat, throwing the Kit-Kat I'd given him back at me.

I deflected the candy with a wave of my hand, batting it to the floor. Sighing, I forfeited my spur of the moment spunk I'd momentarily reclaimed. In turn I resigned myself to the potential failure I'd finally come to terms with before Gaara had arrived. The agreement I'd made with Kakashi concerning Gaara had weaseled their way into the forefront of my mind, and I was at last willing to admit that just maybe, I might have fallen short this time.

"That's what you want then? To be left alone?"

"_Yes_!"

Gaara seethed his reply through clenched teeth, baring his carnivores at me in fury.

And I suppose just like that the 'game' was, in fact, over. Just like Gaara had said.

"Then I suppose we should call Lee."

"… Lee?"

"You still have to live with him, even if you aren't taking sessions from me anymore. You have nowhere else to go."

"You're giving up after all," He scoffed, as if reprimanding me for something.

"No, I'm not the one who's quitting here," I retorted with an irritated scoff. "_You_ are. I can't help someone who has no desire to be helped, and you've finally said it yourself; you want to be left alone. After everything I've tried to do, you're done. So it's really pointless for me to continue from here. You're Lee's problem alone now."

Bushy brow arrived shortly after my call, though he was surprised to hear from me again so soon, only twenty minutes after he'd departed. As the two men left, I expected at least a resentful glare to be thrown at me over Gaara's shoulder. But I was left disappointed as the pair departed, without a single glance back.

In frustration, I threw the two remaining Kit-Kats in my hand at the closed door.

In light of the events of the past week, I couldn't say I could use the word "content" to describe my life anymore.

Especially not as I tried to squeeze my foot into a black loafer I hadn't worn since college.

Shifting my weight onto the opposite leg, I wrestled with the footwear as I angled my foot towards my waist, growling at it in frustration. I hopped the distance across the room to my bed on one foot, sitting on the edge as I tried to wedge my foot inside the shoe.

My feet hadn't gotten _that_ big since I'd graduated, had they?

As if to answer my question, I tried gyrating my ankle in an attempt to squish the extremity inside, and as a result I felt a jolt of pain shoot up my leg stemming from my pinkie toe.

I swore at the loafer, hastily stripping it from my foot and hurling it back into my open closet.

"Asshole! And _stay_ in there!"

And with the skills of a ninja I had never been able to figure out how they originated, my father rapped on the other side of my bedroom door as if he'd been standing there waiting for his cue.

"Miyune? Something wrong?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Just… like a peach."

"That little tantrum of yours didn't sound all that peachy."

"So it's more like the pit of the damn thing," I called back sarcastically, slamming my palms onto my mattress in a fit of my annoyance.

My father was silent for a moment before asking again what was the matter. Exhaling slowly, I rose to my feet and padded across the room, opening the door.

As usual, my father looked fantastic no matter what he wore. From his manicured nails to his ironed-to-perfection suit and tie, he was completely as ease with the role he was about to play.

It was disheartening, really, that I was spawned from the very same man yet carried none of his charms or good looks and I felt my heart sink.

"My dress shoes don't fit anymore."

"Did you recently buy them? Can't you just take them back?"

"I don't think they'd accept shoes that are over five years old, even if I _could_ find the receipt."

Snorting into his hand, he rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh at my expense.

"Why are those the only dress shoes you have?"

"Because I don't get dressed to the nines on a regular basis and I fail to see the point in buying different shoes if I'm never going to wear them."

My father lifted his wrist, bringing his wristwatch to eye level.

"You can buy more. We have plenty of time before we meet up with the officer."

"I could always just wear my sneakers," I suggested hopefully.

"You will not," he retorted sternly with pursed lips, as if the very idea of me tromping around in a dress and sneakers was abominable to him. It probably was.

With a shrug, I surrendered the argument I knew well I'd never win.

"I tried."

"A valiant effort, truly."

"No need to comfort me. I'm anxious to get this day over with."

My father blinked, staring at me with a pointed gaze as I immediately internally cursed my mouth for the umpteenth time in my life.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright. I'm used to this by now."

"Oh what the hell _ever_," I snapped, my heart sinking even lower in my chest. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean… I don't like parties. I don't like strangers, or gratuitous amounts of alcohol, or strangers drinking gratuitous amounts of alcohol. I don't like being around Lee. And I don't like shopping. This day just blows, and it had nothing, I mean _nothing_ to do with you. Capiche?"

"Duly noted."

When the corners of his lips finally quirked at my outburst, I was able to relax my shoulders and move on with the day's events.

And as if my failures with Kakashi, my job and Gaara weren't enough, the fact that I'd forgotten my father's birthday was on the very same day as Kankuro's was the icing on the cake. Of course, he felt it necessary to give me grief over that.

Yesterday the man called me while I'd been at work. I'd ignored the call then as I had been on the clock, and he left no voicemail explaining why he'd sought the sudden contact with me. Though I debated returning the call, curiosity eventually won me over to its side.

"Miyune?"

"Yeah. You called earlier?"

"I did."

"What did you want?"

"… It's nothing. Don't worry about it, alright?"

"If you really felt it was nothing, why did you answer your phone when you knew I was returning your call?"

"Forget it. Really."

"Oh, what the hell, old man?"

"That is so disrespectful."

"Yeah, yeah, your face is disrespectful. So spill."

"You usually call me on my birthday and send me a card. I… just thought that maybe you'd consider… perhaps spending a couple of hours with your "old man" on his special day this year."

… Well, shit.

To be frank, the only birthday I'd been thinking about was Kankuro's, and how to deal with Lee when I had to drag him with me straight into the lair of the brood.

I heard my father sigh softly, and I instantly cursed my silence for betraying my ignorance.

"You forgot about my birthday, didn't you?"

"No," I replied immediately.

"Miyune, I can tell you're lying even from here."

"Okay, fine. In my defense, I have been very busy."

"I believe you. So… I take the request as a 'no'?"

I took the opportunity there to rope my father into joining me to Kankuro's birthday party. He was happy to oblige, in part because it was the son of the Prime Minister's celebration, and my father always had his eyes peeled for chances to meet and greet the beautiful and powerful, of which the Hisuna siblings were very much a part of both categories. I also had a hunch, at my father's possessive undertone when I mentioned going with a man, that somewhere underneath the damaged relationship we'd forged among ourselves, my father was jealous I had a date.

I took a moment to allow him to think Lee and I were romantically inclined, and savored the tone of the jealous father who was protective of his daughter's "innocence" that he'd instantly become despite my age. Putting his mind to rest, I assured him that Lee was not my beau, and merely Gaara's parole officer. He was placated with that answer, and if any doubt as to the legitimacy of the relationship between Lee and I lingered in his mind, it was quelled the moment he met the man.

I suppose my father knew that not even someone as hopeless as I would date a man like Lee.

Thankfully, my father and I carpooled and drove separately from the officer. God knows I didn't want my father getting distracted by the intensity of the massive furrowed brows and drive us all into the side of a building.

The thought had been birthed merely as an amusing speculation. But as the three of us met up at the front of the address specified in the invitation, watching with increasing humor as my father's attentions zeroed in on Lee's eyebrows just as I'd predicted, the plausibility of the scenario I'd schemed didn't seem so far-fetched.

The outside of Kankuro's house hinted at the wealth the guy actually had. I couldn't help but wonder if his father hand lent a hand to the man's upscale abode, or if Kankuro earned his wages on his own. The roof was flat, jutting out as it curved over a second floor balcony. The driveway seemed to circle the house, but I saw an open carport located next to the fountain, conveniently located directly beneath the extended balcony. Although the first level had few windows, the second held large windows that scaled nearly the entire second floor. Aside from the fountain, I also caught sight of a curvature pool edge, complete with diving board, at least one slide, and a small bar table and nearby grill.

Brick for brick, the entire place screamed, "rich bachelor pad".

The only thing seemingly out of place in this oasis of any single man's dream property was a certain perky, fern-green haired butler doing what appeared to be the chicken dance for the entertainment of two young women. She brought her hands above her head and clapped once, then proceeded to do the Roger Rabbit, much to the delight of the now squealing women. At her finish, she ran her hand through her pixie cut and laughed, dipping low in a theatrical bow as the ladies clapped. She was energetic and probably far too happy for anyone manning door-opening duties. As our ragtag group of outcasts approached her employer's home and the girls before us entered, she flashed us a winning smile that rivaled that of Lee's enthusiastic grin. I'm sure Bushy Brow was green with envy, especially when she swept the door open as we approached and used her free hand to thrust a powerful fist-pump into the air.

I never really possessed much of a "woman's intuition", but I suspected that she and Lee would get along swimmingly.

"Welcome to Master Kankuro's sweet pad! I'd like to extend my greetings to you all on his behalf, and by all means, wish the master a "happy birthday" and grab a drink! But don't spill anything on the carpet, we just had those shampooed!"

Her introduction finished, she executed a quick pirouette before catching the door again and flashing the guest behind us another shining smile.

"Oh, Baki-sensei, good evening! How was Russia? Kankuro will be ecstatic to see you again! You know where we keep the good lager, so help yourself to it, but don't spill any on the carpet! We shampooed them yesterday!"

She was serious about that carpet.

We entered the foyer, complete with hanging crystal chandeliers and a swooping spiral staircase. The glory of the interior nearly dwarfed the splendor of the exterior of the house, I thought as I took in the polished floors, looming yet contemporary columns and modern furniture. Just like Genki girl had suggested, the snow-white carpet in the dining room was indeed very nice, and very much prone to careless spills.

A man called my father by name, waving as he invited him to join his band of stone-faced businessmen. My father nodded and excused himself from the company of Bushy Brow and me. Shortly after declining a drink from one of the many hired hands of the house, Lee announced his intentions for "reconnaissance" and departed with a "please excuse me".

Feeling out of place standing awkwardly in the middle of this giant living room alone, and my mission of somehow ditching Lee somewhere unintentionally accomplished, I located an armchair beside one of the few first-story windows, and I seized it, scanning my surroundings. I saw Temari, who caught my gaze for a split second before waving with a strained smile and turning to a flock of nearby women. Naturally, she didn't want to be caught dead with me, not when her friends lingered so near. They might not know who I was or what I'd done to 'sabotage' the Hisuna family, but she did, and I suppose that was enough to keep her at bay when others who might be employed in the press were in the vicinity. Kankuro clearly cared far less than she about the occupational status of the others in the room, as the moment he caught sight of me, he excused himself from a conversation with a tanned man in a bright red tie and approached me. Rising to my feet, I struggled to return the welcoming smile he offered me.

"Hey."

"Yo."

"Glad you could make it."

"Wish I could say the same."

The moment the words left my oftentimes too-loose tongue, I regretted them. My remorse was only reaffirmed by the look of dejection that flitted across Kankuro's face, which he quickly tried to smother.

"You don't like the party?"

"It's not that. I have nothing against this particular party. If I did, I wouldn't have shown up. Sorry, I just meant that parties aren't really my… my scene. I'm sure you already knew that, though."

With a chuckle, Kankuro admitted, "I had a hunch."

The man of the hour shifted his weight from his left foot onto his right, before addressing the one matter I'd hoped to avoid all evening… perhaps the rest of my life.

"How's it going with Gaara?"

Heaving a sigh, I slouched my shoulders in defeat as I tried to become even smaller than I currently felt.

"I've decided to turn him over to Lee's authority."

"You _quit_?!"

Kankuro blanched, taking a step back from me in disbelief. Without taking his eyes off of me for a moment, he set his glass onto the windowsill.

"Why?"

"I realized that in order to help a man like Gaara, I have to… I just, I can't be what he needs… I mean, it's just like this…"

Fumbling over my excuses, I sighed, waving my hand in dissent as Kankuro offered me his drink.

"I… lost hope."

"In Gaara," Kankuro replied matter-of-factly, a forlorn look crossing his face. As if a truth he'd long suspected had finally been confirmed.

"No. In me. In my abilities to help him. Or anyone, for that matter."

"That's such bullshit," Kankuro murmured, scowling at me in disapproval. "If there was any one person I thought had a chance at helping Gaara, I'd have bet money on you."

"Flattering. Sorry to disappoint," I whispered, my gaze dropping to my new clogs in dismay. "I seem to be doing that to people a lot recently. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just take Gaara back on. _Help him_. Please."

"I'd love to, trust me. I'd like nothing more than to do just that, but I can't. Gaara said he's done. There's nothing I can do for him anymore. I don't know if there ever was. He was always opposed to treatment."

"You've had other patients who were averse to being helped by you at first, too, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"So what the hell is the difference here?! Why couldn't you fix Gaara?"

"For starters, because you don't '_fix'_ a human being," I retorted vehemently at my age-old pet peeve, my eyes snapping back up to meet Kankuro's. "Secondly, Gaara's not just different than any _patient_ I've ever doctored- he's unlike any person I've ever met in my life. He's incredibly arrogant, yet insecure in his stability. He knows there's something not right with him, unlike most patients with anger issues who think their emotional state is normal or somehow "superior" to others, but he rejects offers of aid, because he believes his problem is worse than everyone else's. His psyche is a total mystery to me, and he won't let anyone inside his mind, inside of his heart. I'm supposed to be the one who understands him the most, and yet I feel like I understand him the least of all. I've suspected abuse in his childhood, but it remains mere speculation as of this point because I simply don't know."

Setting my sights on the glass that had found its way back into Kankuro's hand, I suddenly wanted a drink. Sensing my distress, again he offered it to me. And though I took a moment to actually consider taking it, again I declined.

"I've never failed a patient before. Never," I breathed, forcing myself to meet my companion's sympathetic gaze. "And since I've released Gaara, I haven't been able to help even the least of them. It's throwing me off my game. I don't even…"

My voice drifted off, yet Kankuro nodded sympathetically as if he'd understood everything I'd said. With a low tone, he asked me,

"Why do we fall, Master Bruce?"

"_What_?"

"So we can get back up."

In confusion and awe I stared at Kankuro, who winked at me as he sipped his alcohol, the sentiment of his quote settling in, the warmth and comfort it brought spreading throughout my chest. Of course, I recognized the line from the movie _Batman Begins_. Hearing it come from Kankuro, however, was nothing I ever expected. It was like a cheesy line spoken as a means to encourage that I'd exchange with a friend, if I had any. Instead, here was the first person to offer me words of comfort and encouragement since I'd acknowledged my failure with Gaara. I'd allowed myself to slip into a depression, and after days of wasting away in the filth of self-pity and sorrow, someone had finally come looking for me.

I tried my best to ignore the tears that began to sting at my eyes.

"Thought you'd appreciate that," He chuckled wryly. "Seemed like good timing."

"I do. Thanks. And yeah, it was," came my choked response.

The warmth in my chest bloomed into a dull ache, and much to the horror of both Kankuro and I, the tears pooling in my eyes began to spill over.

"I… didn't mean to make you cry. Sorry, I just-"

"No, don't apologize," I interrupted, turning my face into my shoulder as I tried to wipe away the tears. "Thank you. Really. I've been allowing myself to stew in my failure for days now, and… I needed that."

"I did tell you to come to me if you ever needed anything," Kankuro reminded me, gesturing in my direction with his glass. "I meant that. And… that's not just where Gaara's concerned. I'm sure that every now and then, you need a shoulder to lean on, too. "

"I… look like such a baby right now."

"Yeah. You do."

I snorted, rolling my head back as I stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears from my eyes. Sniffling, I cleared my throat and spoke to the roof.

"I've always had a penchant for martial arts. I just really like fighting."

Kankuro snorted, before laughing a perplexed, "_What_?"

"It's my mentality. Even in my thinking, everything I do and think about doing is like a game of chess or a sparring match with me. I'm very competitive, and I'm constantly trying to stay ahead of the other guy, or to at least be aware of his weaknesses or faults so that I can outmaneuver him. I do that with my coworkers, with my patients, with my family... I always thought true success resided in… well, _success_. Winning. Being better than everyone else in your field. But now that I look back… I don't know if I was ever really happy at all. I think I was just complacent. And I don't know if success equates happiness. I thought it did, but… does it?"

"I think that's something only you can answer, miss psychiatrist."

"I'm a _sociologist_."

"Whatever. You know, I'm a director."

I couldn't help the shock from showing on my face as I felt my jaw hit the floor. Now _there_ was a dream job.

"You are?"

"Mmhmm. I grew up loving art. But Dad said no kid of his would ever grow up to be a starving artist. When he found out I was going behind his back and keeping a sketchbook in high school, he threw it into the fireplace. He made me sit there on the couch and watch the book burn completely until it was nothing but ash, scolding me and slapping me on the back of the head when I tried to look somewhere else."

Kankuro's eyes drifted off as he gazed listlessly out the window, lost in his own tale.

"I still like to draw and stuff, but me, I really have a thing for painting and sculpting. I'll make creatures out of clay- most of the time I sculpt things I don't even know what they are- and then I'll paint them. It's a hobby I still keep secret from Dad out of necessity. Hell… He'd burn this place to the ground if he knew I still did that "art bullshit"."

His eyes swept around the room, taking in the atmosphere he knew all too well, as if to commit the details of his house to memory.

"I traveled abroad for several years after graduation, first in Hong Kong and then in North America. Told Dad I was studying foreign economic policies and trends in the economy, which is what he wanted me to do- study Finance and Marketing. He was pleased with that… well, as pleased as Dad ever really gets. In actuality, I was studying theatre and filmmaking. I took a trip to Indonesia for an internship I got through a buddy of mine I met in America; he grew up in Indonesia, and set me up with some contacts from his home country and landed me an internship there. From there, I made more contacts of my own, got references, and by the time I finally got around to coming back to Japan I already had a strong resume and plenty of people to support me in the career I dreamed. I moved out of the house the moment I got back home, knowing Dad would be pissed when he found out I was never going to be employed in anything to do economics. Sure enough, when Dad found out I'd taken a job teaching at a film school, I thought his head was going to explode. I moved in with a few friends of mine, because I seriously thought he was going to come looking for me and kill me over that, he was so mad. I admit, few times have I ever been that scared in my life. But now, I don't teach anymore. I direct my _own_ shit, and though I'm not what my Dad considers success, I'm doing exactly what I've always wanted to do, and I'm happy doing it. If you were to ask him, I'm his wayward son who happened to make it big despite not obeying his blueprint for my life. According to me, well, I'm more successful than I'd ever hoped to be at this point in my life."

After his confession, he took a deep swig of his drink, his face flushing. Either he was getting drunk, or he was embarrassed at having said so much. Judging from what Shikamaru had said about Kankuro being something of a regular drinker, I hardly doubt the man of the hour was seeing double yet. The alcohol, however, had probably been the deciding factor leading up to Kankuro's loose tongue.

Not done with story-time, I encouraged him further.

"I'm glad at least you found your place despite your father's iron hand." I thought of Temari, and the family-orientated daydreams she seemed to entertain. "I'm sure Temari's proud of you."

"Somewhat," Kankuro admitted awkwardly. He polished off what remained of his drink, and then flagged down the perky green-haired butler I'd encountered earlier to refill his glass as she passed with a tray of drinks.

"At first, she was upset. She couldn't understand why I had to, "make waves with the family in pursuit of selfishness", she said, and not just do what I knew Dad wanted me to do, like she did before me. But we've talked, and she understands now, even if Dad doesn't. Compared to Temari, who is Dad's golden child because what he makes her do with her life she just so happens to love doing anyway, I'm in her shadow. But I'm still grateful that I'm nothing like what Dad made Gaara into. Unlike Temari and me, Gaara never relented to a single one of Dad's manipulative brainwashing bullshit, and look what it did to him. It ruined his life. Turned him into the most confused, twisted guy you've ever met in your life. Made him into some kind of… _monster_. I admit, I made almost no attempt to connect with him growing up because I was scared. Scared of what Dad might say if I socialized with the "Black Sheep" of the family. Scared of Gaara's temper. Even as a kid, he seemed normal, _nice_ even, like trying to give a neighbor girl medicine for a scratch when she fell. But he still had some bat-shit crazy moments even then, like putting tacks in the shoes of some first grader when she rejected his handmade valentine."

"'_Manipulative brainwashing'_? Like what?"

"Dad's had a layout for all his kids. Plans he expected us to fulfill without question. He wanted Temari to be his liaison for him for his own political gain. She loves Dad, or rather, she likes him more than Gaara and I ever will, and she's always enjoyed traveling anyway. She was happy to do as he told her, so it was less so brainwashing with her. I was a little more rebellious than she, but I still heeded most of what Dad told me to do until I started travelling on my own as an adult. But then Gaara was born, Mom died because of complications during childbirth, and Gaara became the scapegoat for which Dad's anger was directed. He never laid a hand on us before she died; afterwards, he was all about his physical discipline. Dad always made it clear, though, the way he wanted things to work; Temari would work behind the scenes, amassing favor for Japan among other countries and spreading our family's dictatorial name. I was meant to be the finance guy, always making sure Dad and his government buddies were accumulating more wealth than he was spending during his political ascension. And though all of us were less his children and more like tools to further his own career, Gaara was originally intended to be Dad's successor to his government aspirations."

"What, seriously? _Gaara_, a politician?"

The thought was laughable. This was quite possible the least most humorous joke I'd ever heard in my life. I knew many government officials were stereotyped as being bloodthirsty, greedy little bastards, but that was a bit of a stretch even for my sadistic little ray of Sunshine.

"Like I said- that was Dad's _original_ plan. Because of Dad's high hopes for him, Gaara got the worst hand of cards between the three of us, because Dad expected impossible things of him. He got him the best tutors and the most prestigious education money could buy, but he also applied an incredible amount of pressure onto him. Pressure which Gaara resisted, and in so many words, he often told Dad to piss off as early as age ten. Dad also isolated Gaara from Temari and me, even sending him to a different school than he sent us. I saw him maybe three times growing up. When I came back from overseas, Gaara had moved into the Kantei with Dad, which was a shock to me. He was constantly stressed, unable to please the impossible-to-please Dad of ours, and though he really tried but as Gaara grew, Dad just gave up on him because of Gaara's resistance, I guess. Started ignoring him entirely, only speaking to him to remind him he was a failure; the black sheep who disgraced the Hisuna name. He often told Gaara he was unwanted and had no place in our family as the one mistake father simply couldn't find a place for. Eventually, Gaara transformed from an isolated, wounded kid into the jaded bastard we know now."

Kankuro hesitated, before licking his lips and glancing out the window overlooking the fountain. Directly above us, I realized, was I the balcony I'd seen from outside. At night, with the illumination from his own property combined with the city lights of Tokyo, I'd imagine that the view was breathtaking.

"Our family dirt is something we like to keep under wraps, since it's so easily leaked out into the public papers. But, still, I know you asked us many times, and I don't know if any of this ever would have helped you help Gaara, but even so… I'm sorry I wouldn't tell you this before."

"So am I," I admitted bitterly with a sigh. "But there's not a whole lot we can do about that now, is there?"

"This ain't over 'till the fat lady sings," he replied before downing his glass in one large swig. "So don't count your hens."

"Eggs."

"What?"

"The expression is don't count your eggs until they hatch. Besides, I think that turn of phrase defeats the point you're trying to make with the whole positive charge of the, 'it's not over until the fat lady sings' routine you had going there."

"Fuck you, that's the expression."

I smiled at his wit, which was almost as impressive as my own.

"You're drunk."

"No," he scoffed with an offended frown.

"Buzzed, then."

"… I won't deny that."

"You couldn't even if you wanted to anyway. Not that you'll ever recall me saying this in a couple of hours, but your butler suggested that I tell you happy birthday."

"Thanks. Now get the hell off of my lawn."

"What, are you going to call the cops on me?"

"I might."

"You forget, I came here with a cop. I'm sure I can get myself out of any charges you try to nab me with."

"I wish you two the best of luck, and I'll see you assholes in court."

Kankuro bailed from our banter, undoubtedly to locate his butler again for another refill of booze he didn't need at this point. But no one was going to deny the birthday boy his alcohol, in his own house no less; of that I was sure. Grinning like a fool, I reclaimed my seat by the window and waited for Lee or my father to pass by. I replayed the conversation I'd just had with Kankuro in my head, musing on how such a short exchange had left me feeling reenergized, encouraged and in far better spirits than when I'd arrived here. It made me wonder if that was what it was like to have people whom one could relate to, and share their worries with. And Kankuro's family story- how many others were there that he put that kind of stock into? Did this mean he trusted me, or was it simply the influence of the alcohol talking? For the longest time, I thought it was only Kakashi who could bring forth such light-hearted emotions in me.

Maybe it didn't have to be that way forever, I mused. Maybe, I could change. Have companionship I enjoyed. But as I saw Lee's bowl-cut bobbing through the room, his destination me, I offered him a weak smile of greeting and rose to my feet, saving that old dream yet again for another day's realization.


End file.
